#yes shes the Gentlest Creature To Ever Live

[solasan]

oc edits: amarantha, goddess of spring (@chrysanthemumgames)

i want... to be of use to someone.

[iheartnimbassacity]

Nimbasa City Police Department

Internal Document: Interrogation of Amaryllis, B

Officer on duty: [Redacted]

Transcript follows.

Officer: Good evening, Mr. Amaryllis. It's good to get to talk to you.

Amaryllis: Is it now. And it's Professor Amaryllis. Or Doctor if you prefer. I've earned my titles and I will have people use them.

Officer: Professor, of course. Please, take a seat. I'm sure you have had quite the day, between what occurred yesterday and finding the true nature of your husband. We have some evidence to show you about Dreda.

Amaryllis: Dave. His name is Dave and I will have you use it.

Officer: Dave. Alright.Truly, we are sorry this is how you had to find out. I'm sure you love the man, but you can't deny what he has done. What has he told you, Professor?

[Subject is presented with evidence file]

Amaryllis: You said you were here to show me things. Not to ask questions.

Officer: Both, really. We have gotten information out of Dre- Dave, already.He's dangerous, Professor. It's a surprise it took him this long to hurt someone.

[Subject is presented with evidence video 12a. They seem slightly shaken]

Amaryllis: This is a child. How can you look at this and not see a victim of the same violence that the others are living… She didn't want to hurt me.

Officer: He was old enough to know better, Professor. He still murdered people with little remorse. He was still willing to kill Blizz. We saw what that doctor said, it would have died. No matter how you spin it, your husband is dangerous. Did he ever show violent tendencies before this?

Amaryllis: The child in this photo is what, eight maybe, nine? Do you think children that old have that sort of agency, the strength to tie this man to that chair? Dave is the gentlest man I have ever known. More so than myself. She was in an impossible situation and face to face with a creature your culture reveres as a deity. Is it so hard to understand lashing out at the person you felt was responsible for all that?

Officer: He could have left, reports show he had many chances that he didn’t take. He can't be all that gentle when he almost killed you. He even stole from you what I can only imagine is a sentimental item. He was even wearing it around his neck when we found him. You cannot deny the facts, Professor. He needs to be locked up.

[Subject becomes agitated.]

Amaryllis: The facts? The facts are that that was a traumatized, abused child that was forced to do things she never wanted to do because they did not know that there was another option. Do you know, officer, what that kind of abuse does to a child? The learned helplessness, the fear of you taking a wrong step? Do you know how impossible it can feel so survive it, no less escape it? That necklace is sentimental, yes. Because I Had It Made For My Husband.

Officer: You know more than you are letting on. Do you want to see the tapes? Where your husband tortures a man to death, you can see the joy in his eyes. He thrived in Rocket, the death of his parents a plan gone wrong. That man is sick.

Amaryllis: So now we are assuming crimes that you have no evidence for, along with assigning guilt to an abused child that only their parents should have held. That sounds very much like 'Innocent until proven guilty. Dave is a good man. A kind man. None of this rests on his shoulders, and you know that a jury would agree. Is any of this even admissible? Where. Is. My. Wife.

Officer: You can't see him. He's still being questioned. It's a fair assumption, considering his past endeavors. Even if you believe he was just an 'abused child', he kept stealing into adulthood. I don't doubt he would have gone on a killing spree if he got on his feet before he met you. Have you considered that he was just lying? To get close to you, to make you trust him, for his safety against those who may try to punish him for his crimes?

[Evidence video 17c is played. Subject visibly recoils.]

Amaryllis: He wasn't lying to me. I know him better than you ever will. We wouldn't. He wouldn't hurt anyone on purpose, not if she had a choice. She's a good person.

Officer: So you knew, and did nothing? Did you ever confront him? Did you not watch the video? No matter how you look at it, he enjoys causing pain. He's dangerous. How can you say he's a good person after what you have seen?

Amaryllis: You're wrong. You're wrong about all of this. That isn't enjoyment that's fucking dissociation. That- …I have seen the kindness he is capable of, I have seen how afraid he is of hurting others, how gentle she is. I would like to see my wife.

Officer: How can you be sure that isn't a mask, Professor? You're a smart man, you think he wouldn't just lie to you? We cannot let you two meet. He's dangerous, only certain people can see him.

[Subject becomes visibly angry]

Amaryllis: He's not Dangerous! He wouldn't ever hurt me. He would not.

Officer: Answer me. What reason do you think Dave is more than just a flimsy mask of a liar?

Amaryllis: He's more of a man then you will ever be. You have nothing real, nothing you can use, you would not be trying to hound me for answers if you did. He isn't lying to me. He didn't ... He didn't lie.

Officer: He told you a half truth, didn't he? He didn't tell you the whole truth, isn't that right? Professor, you need to know when to cut your losses.

Amaryllis:This interview is fucking over. You have nothing, just cowards trying to justify their pathetic existence by hurting people who have actually decided to do some good in the world. If any of this meant anything you wouldn't be trying so hard to turn me on the man I love. I will be back, and I will make you all regret not seeing reason.

[Subject storms out]

[madamescarlette]

Paramore's This Is Why and Riot! and also Swift's 1989

:D!!!! There's nothing I love more than us being Paramore besties my Lu-est Lu truly truly. ily I hope your day is going well beloved!!!

This Is Why:

Liar (the gentlest the softest the saddest the purest)

Crave (it's so cutie to me and also a sentiment I love so much right now, yes I DO want to put a frame around the day and hang it up in the halls of my heart forever Hayley, how did you know that girl)

Big Man, Little Dignity (music brain overrules me for this one, I usually have no reason to identify so closely with a song dripping with disdain, but the horns and her vocals and the sorrow of falling for it every time very much to me)

Running Out Of Time (she makes me laugh why lie. the me who always wants to sleep in to accommodate my night creature ways feels her heavily)

Thick Skull (might be silly of me but makes me think of my spiritual life I have 2 laugh)

Riot!:

When It Rains (I have a very special relationship with this song because the special melancholy of it was holding my hand during one of the hardest years of my life and I can never undo that bond in my life nor would I ever WANT to!)

That's What You Get (it was one of my very first Paramore songs and so among the first that really clinched me with how GOOD of a vocalist Hayley is and also their particular brand of world-weariness combined with the need to try again as many times as need be.)

Miracle (don't know how to explain this one except that she means a lot to me!)

Hallelujah (screeching this while you scrub your dishes is a particular emotion like yes of COURSE I'll scream hallelujah Hayley I can do that babes)

crushcrushcrush (nothing DOES compare to a quiet evening alone I simply love a funky little bridge so much what can I say)

1989:

Clean (I have struggled for years to put my finger on why I love this song so much! But much like When It Rains it's stayed in my pocket for a long time traveling with me over the years of my life and now I cannot see who I am without it. It's a song that's broken me open and filled me with light more times than I can explain.)

Blank Space (you might think I'm kidding but I am not. If Blank Space has no lovers left in the world it is because I have died. To this day it makes me feral the instant I hear it.)

Shake It Off (this is an extremely biased choice because nothing fills me with instant seratonin and joy than live versions of this song.)

Out Of The Woods (perfect perfect perfect song. One of the very first T-and-Jack songs and it's always going to be one of their best imo. I simply will always love the frantic energy and the beautiful moment of sunlight shining through in the end of the bridge.)

This Love (it might actually murder me to leave this song off of this list so it gets a cozy little spot here. Still the definition of love in my mind even though I'm not sure I'll ever fully comprehend what it means to me. I simply love that it appeared in a poem form and it still SOUNDS like a poem.)

Bonus: You Are In Love because it also actually might kill me to leave it behind! She's spent her whole life trying to put it into words!!!

send me an album and i’ll share my top 5 favorite songs from it

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Rafael 🥺🥺🥺

CW: Pet whump, referenced implied noncon/dubcon, captivity, isolation, intimate whumper, creepy whumper

Follows this piece where Chris overcomes his freeze response to try and help someone

It’s 2:30 in the morning. The house is cool and silent and still around him as he stands in the master’s library, where the only phone he’s ever seen that wasn’t the small, slim things his master and mistress keep in their pockets or purses or always on themselves.

He’s not allowed in here, books make his head hurt and we wouldn’t want to give you wrinkles in that pretty face from all that squinting, Raf. But he’s here, anyway.

They’re asleep, down the hall, in their room. The both of them, the mistress breathing low and deep, the master softly snoring. He can hear them from here, and it’s a soothing comfort to be able to track their sleep even now.

His heart pounds while he stares at the phone, dressed only in the loose, slightly sheer black pants he’s allowed to wear to sleep, when they have done with him for the night, when he is no longer between them, taken and taking, eyes closed and body repeating patterns while his mind goes somewhere else.

Red bruises darken around his neck and shoulders, the lipstick at least washed away and leaving only blood vessels burst under his pale skin to color it. She loves to leave the lipstick there, and they love to see who can mark him more, counting up the new places, telling who did what by the smear of Rouge, or Addict, or whatever other name she gave to the slim little tubes that littered her vanity. 

He lays back for their inspection, smiles up at the mirror they’ve had fixed to the underside of the canopy over their bed, and drifts away while they laugh over and around him. The loser makes the drinks, after, and he gets one, too.

Whiskey and honey-syrup with rosemary, washed down, but the taste never leaves, not all the way. He tastes them when he falls asleep.

If he falls asleep.

Now, he’s clean except for the way he always feels a slight, nearly invisible layer of grime on his skin, and his skin is unmarked except for the bruises they will carefully cover with the turtlenecks he wears in the morning.

He’s clean... except that he is never, ever clean. 

His name is Rafael.

Something else was his name, once upon a time. Some other blend of letters, some other murmured syllables spoken on someone else’s tongue. He knows that much - they tell him far more than he has ever asked to know. 

They found him, Master and Ma’am, hungry and dirty and cold. You were so desperate for a hot meal, someplace to sleep, you told us you’d do anything. They offered him safety, and someone to care for him, and he got into their car. It’s what he wanted. You wanted to leave it all behind, you know. We gave you the chance. 

We offered you a choice, and it wasn’t like anyone else was going to help you, Raf. You didn’t have a soul in the world who even gave a damn if you were alive.

He signed up for this.

Didn’t he?

The voice of the man in the museum comes back to him with his scarred face and soft green eyes. Somebody loved you. They lie to us. Pushing the plastic feather into his hand, whispering numbers to him. Rafael’s neck aches under his collar, throbs with the blood pooling from their teeth tearing at him and telling him he likes it, and he’s never thought to argue before.

But he doesn’t.

On his own, he dreams about softness, he closes his eyes and runs fingertips along his own palm and imagines it’s someone who simply wants to hold his hand. Alone, Rafael thinks about a dim sweet warmth, even as they tell him he wants their too-bright light baring him to hands and teeth like fang and claws, to desire that digs deep and draws blood. 

Somebody loved you.

It seems impossible.

They lie to us all.

In the dark of night, with the barest hint of moonlight coming through the great windows along the wall, the saturated purple of the feather is a cool, faded lavender. Rafael rubs his thumb along it, following an instinctive movement. He can see, he thinks, the faintest hint of indents in it, like the man he saw at the museum had been chewing on it. Marks like teeth, like the marks on his side, the way they laugh on either side of him, his mistress murmuring, they could identify us with dental records by that one if we dumped him, darling, and his master kissing her, then him, then laughing too loud, laughing harder when Rafael flinches from the sound and the fear of being abandoned.

They’d found him abandoned and taken him in. They gave him a home and he traded away whatever life he’d had to get it, willingly, happily, wanting to be loved and kept and held. 

But... what if that wasn’t what happened, just because they said it was?

Somebody loved you.

He moves closer to the phone, letting his fingers trail over the cool dark plastic, smooth and shining in the dark. His eyes close, and he breathes, in and out. The room smells like old books, and the leather of the chairs in here. Like a candle his mistress insists on lighting once a week in the room. 

When they have him in here, he’s blindfolded to keep him from seeing the books. 

The man in the museum had been one, he knew it instantly. No collar, though, and not with an owner, but he still... Raf had known. He always knew, and when he’d seen the scar, he’d known that the man wasn’t one, not any longer. 

Whispering to him that there is another way to live.

Rafael takes a deep breath, picks up the phone, and swallows back the burst of fear. It’s just a few numbers. It’s just a few words. He can always choose not to go, if they come. He can sign up for this again.

He can take it back.

5. 5. 5. 7. 2. 3. 3.

The click of the little dialpad as he touches the numbers seems impossibly loud, but with each pause between he listens, and he can still hear them sleeping. He’s okay. He’ll be okay. 

It’s just some words, a number, a whisper, a plea.

Did somebody love me once, in a way that wasn’t like this?

The phone settles cold against his ear, and he grips the feather in his hand like the medallion of a saint.

He doesn’t know saints. He doesn’t know why that thought came to mind. 

Holy St. Anthony, gentlest of Saints, your love for God and Charity for His creatures, made you worthy, when on earth, to possess miraculous powers. Encouraged by this thought, I implore you to-

“Hello?”

Rafael nearly forgets how to speak, between his shock that anyone picked up and the sudden burst of sharp pain that wipes the momentary prayer from his memory entirely. “H-Hello. I-I... I was, I am.. um. I n-need...”

“Do you need help?” The voice is low and compassionate, deep and with an accent he can’t place. 

They’ll help you, the man from the museum said.

“Please,” Rafael whispers. “Please, I need-... I need help. I, I need... I need out.”

“I’m going to trace your call,” The voice says quietly. “For the purpose of this conversation, you can call me Heather. I’m a liberated pet and I’m here to help. Do you need a rescue?”

Rafael feels tears threatening to fall, and he clutches the feather as tightly as he can. “I don’t know. It’s not-... It’s not, they don’t-... I’m n-not hurt, I just-”

“You don’t have to be in physical pain,” Heather says, quiet and certain, “to be wounded. I need about sixty-seven seconds more to get your location. Do you want to leave?”

No one’s ever asked.

He swallows. “Y... yes. I don’t want to be-... to do this anymore.”

“Okay. It’s okay, this is what we do. What’s your name and designation?”

That’s easy. He answers thoughtlessly, memorized words falling off his lips like petals from a dying flower. “Rafael, my number is 453266, designation Romantic, Facility 012.”

There’s a pause. “You’ve come a long way.”

He swallows “H-Have I?”

“I’ll explain later. It could take us up to fourteen days to effect a rescue. Will you be reasonably physically safe until that time?”

There’s a scrape in the hallway, a footfall. Rafael’s breath catches as he realizes he forgot to keep listening for their breathing, checking that they were asleep. “Oh, no. I have to go. He’s-... I have to go. Please, please find me, please-”

“I’m killing this number as soon as you hang up. It’s okay. We’ve got you. We just need a little time-”

He drops the phone back into the cradle right as his master appears in the doorway, leaning against it on one arm. His eyes glitter dangerously with reflected moonlight.

“Raf? What was that?”

Rafael swallows, lifting his chin as he turns, putting his practiced flirtatious smile on his face. Head tilt, half-lidded eyes. Let the look of sleepy affection wipe away the terror still crawling over his skin. His master moves towards him, naked but he can do more damage naked than Rafael could do in a set of armor.

“I had a-... a nightmare, a false memory,” Rafael says quickly, and steps to his master, feigning gratitude, warmth, happiness at seeing him. “I don’t know what happened. I w-woke up with the phone at my ear.”

“Hm. You haven’t sleepwalked in a long time.” His master moves past him, looking down at the phone, then back up at Rafael. In the darkness it all seems amplified, every threat a near-murder, a knife held precariously against his throat. “What did you dial?”

“I-I don’t know,” Rafael lies, clinging to him, every inch the pet scared of himself, not of the master. “I just heard beeping when I-... woke up, I guess.”

There’s a pause, and the master hums, picking the phone up, hitting three buttons Rafael doesn’t look at, but he knows - he’s having the phone redial the last number called. Raf closes his eyes, and he prays, to nothing and no one and maybe just to the dark of night itself. 

He exhales when the only sound is a woman’s tinny voice stating this number is not in service at this time. 

His master chuckles, sounding relieved himself. “Well, no harm done, I suppose. But we’re going to have to tie you to the bed at night again, aren’t we? Keep you from wandering.”

“Is that a promise?” Rafael’s voice is shaking but he drops it to low and husky to cover it, his heart pounding and body frozen as he turns into his master’s body, tipping his head for a kiss. 

He hates being tied to the bed. 

You love this, Raf. You told us it was your favorite way to work when we found you. But it’s not work anymore, is it? It’s your life.

He hates it.

The man’s voice in his mind again as he slides the feather into his pocket. They lie to all of us.

Nobody loved you, that’s why we had to take you in.

Somebody loved you. 

“Honestly, Raf, is that the only thing you think about?” His master’s tone is playful, flirtatious. His voice dips lower and Rafael keeps his smile firmly in place, widens it a little. 

Inside his head, he thinks, you wanted me to only think about this. I know I didn’t start this way.

Further back, far enough inside he knows it will never show on his face, he thinks, I thought about dinosaurs instead today. I thought about the feather, and the number, and I thought about how maybe you’re the one lying, and I was the one telling the truth.

I just can’t remember what truth I told.

“Back to bed for you, I think,” His master murmurs, presses a kiss over a bruise. Rafael shivers and pretends it’s from desire and not from the ache. “I’ll get out your favorite ropes.”

He hates the fucking ropes.

“Perfect,” Rafael says, and his voice comes out smooth, and soft. “You know I love the ropes.”

-

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @wildfaewhump

[babybluebex]

Hi, i was wondering if you could write something where Sebastian Stan is a dad to a little boy and the one who always reads to him before bed, but one night Seb is very tired after shooting, and reader is the one putting him to bed, but the little one refuses to go to sleep until Seb reads to him.

Sorry for my bad Engish, it's not my first languaje. Also, if you don't want to write this I totally understand. 🥰

no! i love the idea!! i tweaked it a bit to fit an idea i was already writing, so i hope you liked what i did with it :) and ur english is perfect my love

goodnight, sleep tight [sebastian stan x reader]

➽ pairing: dad!sebastian stan x fem!reader( y/n) ➽ word count: 2.2k ➽ summary: see above! ➽ warnings: mentions of postpartum depression, angst ➽ a/n: the image of seb in bucky’s costume, getting a little baby to fall asleep makes me go uwu

“Are you guys coming to set today?” Sebastian asked, pressing a kiss to my head. 

“I’ll see if Andy wants to,” I mumbled with a yawn. My husband’s call time was six AM, which was so much earlier than I ever wanted to be awake, so he usually woke me up with a goodbye kiss. “I think we can manage it, though.” 

“Ah, well,” Sebastian shrugged. “He’s barely a year old. I think he’ll like it.” 

“But he’s also your son,” I countered. 

“What does that mean?” Sebastian asked. Even in the dark of the room, I could see the happy glint in his blue eyes. 

“He’s stubborn,” I said. “Won’t do anything if he doesn’t want to.” 

“That’s not a ‘me’ thing,” Sebastian told me. “That’s a Romanian thing. We’re stubborn people.” 

“Regardless,” I sighed. “I think he might be scared of the costume. The mask and the arm and all; it might be a bit much.” 

“He’ll be able to tell it’s me,” Sebastian said. “Kids are like dogs, they can recognize people by smell. Right?” 

“Maybe your smell,” I chuckled, my throat dry from the night of sleep. “Mr. Bucket-Of-KY-Jelly.” 

“That was uncalled for,” Sebastian chuckled. He leaned over the bed, bracing his left hand next to me head, and I turned to fully look at him. “I smell great.” 

“When you shower, you do,” I said, scrunching my nose, and Sebastian laughed deep in his chest. He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, giving me the gentlest of kisses. Sebastian wasn’t usually a gentle creature-- his kisses usually left me with bruised and puffy lips or marks littering my neck and breasts-- but, in the morning, he was so soft and sweet. 

“We’ll continue this later,” Sebastian said. His long hair fell into his face, and I tenderly pushed it behind his ear. Adjusting to the new everything that Seb required for this film was an experience; the long hair, the stubble, and the weight training was grueling for all three of us, especially little Andrei. He missed his daddy dearly, but Sebastian always made up for lost time with nightly tummy-time and stories. Andrei James Stan had loved his dad since before he was born-- the little bastard always kicked up a storm when Sebastian rubbed my belly or talked to me-- and, when he was gone filming something for a long time, Andy got a little upset and overly clingy. Call it separation anxiety or just plain missing his daddy, but Sebastian always made it up to Andy with a special Daddy/Andy night (which also gave me the opportunity to be by myself for a while). 

“I hope not too much later,” I whispered, pulling him down to kiss me again. “I miss you, Seb.” 

“I know, baby,” Sebastian whispered as he pressed his forehead to mine. “I miss you too. Maybe we can get a babysitter or something on Sunday.”

“Great idea,” I said. “Now, you gotta go or you’ll be late.” 

“Ugh,” Sebastian groaned. 

“Go!” I giggled. “My big super-soldier. You gotta show everyone what you’re made of.” 

Just as I spoke, from across the room, Andy made a squealing noise in his crib. The trailer we were living in while Sebastian shot Winter Soldier was a bit small, but it worked perfectly. “Oh, really?” Sebastian said, turning his head to look at Andy. “And what do you think I’m made of, mister?” 

Sebastian moved to his crib as I turned on the lamp, and I watched Sebastian, all muscles and beard and long hair, reach into the crib and pull his infant son into his arms. Andy was born premature, so he was still pretty small, and it made my heart melt. His fluffy hair was in-between a blond and a brown, sorta like how Sebastian’s hair was when he was little, and he had the most beautiful blue eyes. “Really?” Sebastian playfully grimaced, nuzzling his nose against Andy’s. “I think you’re made of yogurt and farts, young man.” 

“Seb!” I snorted. “Don’t say that to him!”

“He is, though!” Sebastian laughed, Andy’s little fist tightening around a lock of his hair. “I don’t see you denying it.” 

“Don’t say our son’s made of farts,” I protested, getting out of bed. “He’s made of wonderful things, like love and kindness--” 

“And yogurt,” Sebastian added. 

“And yogurt,” I acquiesced. Andy did eat a lot of yogurt. “Speaking of, is the little monster hungry? Is that why you’re up so early?” 

Andy nodded, patting his tummy, and Sebastian gave him to me. “Have a good day today, babies,” Sebastian told me, kissing my forehead, then brushing Andy’s hair back and kissing his soft head. “Just text me when you’re coming by.” 

“Sure thing.” 

“This is Sebastian’s baby?” 

Scarlet held Andy in a tender embrace, gazing at him with surprise. She was looking at him with a look of wonderment, like she couldn’t believe that Sebastian of all people could be capable of producing another human being. Nobody on the cast had properly met Andy yet, hence why Andy and I visiting set was such a big deal. “Looks just like him,” she added. 

“Acts like him too,” I chuckled. “Stubborn as hell and eats everything in sight.” 

“Damn, this really is his kid,” Scarlet laughed, and Andy thumped his head down onto her shoulder. “He’s so sweet.”

Andy smiled at Scarlet and gave a happy squeal, and Scarlet turned to face me. “Who’s that?” She asked in a gentle voice, and Andy’s smile turned to me. 

“Mama!” He exclaimed, reaching for me, and Scarlet and I laughed. 

“Smart as hell,” Scarlet added. 

“That comes from me,” I chuckled. Andy took a fistful of my shirt and started to chew on the fabric, but I was used to it. He was teething and chewed on everything; most of my shirts were a little frayed from him. 

“Mean,” said Sebastian from behind me, and I turned and gave a gasp of surprise. I hadn’t ever seen him in full costume before, and it was a shock at first. A leather vest and tight dark jeans, tactical gear everywhere, and a dark mask obscuring the bottom half of his face. And, of course, covering his left arm, a cast-like structure that looked like silver metal with a red star on his shoulder. The arm was covered in little orange dots-- I’m assuming to assist in mo-cap during editing-- and he wore a leather glove on his left hand. 

“Jesus God,” I laughed. “Scared the hell outta me. You look good, babes.” 

“I know,” Sebastian told me, and I knew that he was smirking at me under the mask. “You look beautiful too.” 

“Not really,” I said. “I’m not even wearing makeup.” 

“Still beautiful,” he said, and he reached up and tugged the mask off. He leaned down and, cradling my cheek in his gloved hand, gently kissed my lips. “And the little rascal?” 

“Mm,” I hummed, breaking the kiss. “He’s sleepy. Getting cranky and all.” 

“Has he eaten?” 

“Just did,” I told him. “Before you ask, yes, it was yogurt. But I also gave him some of those blueberry puffy crackers.” 

“Did you save any for me?” Sebastian asked, his eyebrows raising. 

“In my pocket,” I replied. Sebastian and I had quickly discovered that certain baby foods were delicious, especially the fruit-flavored puffy crackers that Andy favored, and I always ended up bringing some with me wherever I went. 

“I know that you’re not eating baby food,” Scarlet laughed as Sebastian reached into my pocket and extracted the plastic bag of star-shaped crackers. 

“They’re good as hell,” Sebastian said, popping a handful into his mouth. “Want one?” 

“I’ll pass,” Scarlet laughed. 

“Ask Mackie, I’m sure he’ll tell you the same,” Sebastian said. Then, he turned his attention back to me. “I could read him a quick story to get him down, if you want.” 

I shrugged. “If you really want to,” I said. 

“Alright, stinker,” Sebastian said, exchanging the crackers for Andy. “Did you bring a book?” 

“Shit, no,” I mumbled. 

“Shit!” 

“Oh, c’mon, man,” I sighed as Scarlet laughed. I frequently forgot that Andy was at the stage where he was repeating things that he heard, and usually Sebastian and I were good about not cussing, because Andy would repeat it for the rest of time. “Don’t expose me like this.” 

“I can come up with a story,” Sebastian said through stifled laughter. “Let’s find a place to get comfy, huh, mister? A nice chair, maybe? I bet Uncle Chris has a really nice chair we can settle in…” 

As he walked away, I felt a presence behind me. I had briefly met Chris at the First Avenger premiere a few years ago, when Sebastian and I weren’t even properly dating yet, but Sebastian and I had eloped, hence no wedding to see him at. “Hey, Evans,” I said and gave him a quick fist bump. 

“Where’re they going?” Chris asked, munching at an orange. 

“To steal your chair in the shade,” I said. “Andy’s getting sleepy and only sleeps when Seb reads him a story.” 

“Cute,” Chris said. “Ya know, Sebastian never shuts up about the two of you.”

“Really?” I asked. “Like, what does he say?”

“Just little stories,” Chris said. “Something you said, or something Andy did. Or just the quick little ‘we had this for dinner’ or ‘we watched this movie last night’. He adores you two.” 

“That’s nice,” I said softly. “I always worry if he’s getting sick of having these two lives. It must be a lot for him.” 

“I can’t read minds,” Chris said. “But I don’t think he could ever get sick of you.”

I nodded slowly. “I was diagnosed with postpartum depression after Andy was born,” I started quietly. “I was so anxious that I wasn’t sleeping, I couldn’t stop crying, I… I even thought about packing a bag and leaving and not coming back. It was so fucking hard, and I thought for sure that Sebastian would ask for a divorce or something. I guess I’m still a little worried about that. But that’s… That’s really helpful, Chris. Thanks.” 

I tried to contain my tears, but Chris must have seen through my crumbling facade, because he wrapped me in a tight hug. “You’re so strong, Y/N,” he whispered. “Know that I’m proud of you, and Scar, and Mackie, and all of us, but especially Sebastian. Man, he fucking loves you so much. There’s nothing that you could do that would make him hate you or want to divorce you. I don’t know much about your relationship, but I know that.” 

I was glad I wasn’t wearing makeup, because I knew that it would be smeared across my cheeks by now. It was one thing to hear it from Sebastian, but from an outsider like Chris, it meant the world. “Thanks,” I whispered. “That means so fucking much.” 

“And, hey, I kinda know how it goes with a baby,” Chris began. “My sisters have kids, and I’ve played babysitter plenty of times. And I’d say I’m pretty good at it. No complaints so far. So, if you ever need a babysitter to get a break for a night, I’d love to help.” 

“That would be so nice,” I sighed into his shoulder. “Not to be TMI…” I paused to let him stop me, but his hand comfortingly ran up my back. “It’s been a while since it was just… Me and Seb, ya know what I mean?”

“I do,” Chris said. “You have my number.” 

I nodded and detached myself from Chris, and I chuckled as I wiped my face dry. “I’m gonna go find my boys,” I said. “Thanks for that, man.”

“Anytime, Mrs. Stan,” Chris said with a smile. 

It wasn’t hard to find Sebastian and Andrei. They were settled in a canvas chair under a tarp shade, with Andy’s little head resting on his shoulder. He seemed like he was already out like a light. “... So Steve is like ‘Bucky?’ and Bucky looks at his friend and he says ‘Who the hell is Bucky?’, which is not that good. Because Bucky should know who Steve is, right?” 

“Are you telling him spoilers for the movie?” I asked, putting my hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. 

“It’s the only story I could come up with on the spot,” Sebastian said. “But he seems to like it… Or not like it. Does it mean he thinks it’s boring if he falls asleep during it?” 

“I think it means that he loves you,” I said. “And he finds comfort in you, even when you look like that.”

“Look like what?” Sebastian asked. When I didn’t answer and only gave him a playful smile, he said, “When I look like what, Y/N Stan?” 

“So different than usual,” I offered with a shrug, and Sebastian rolled his eyes. 

“You’ll pay for that,” he told me, patting Andy’s back gently. “What were you talking to Chris about?” 

“He was just telling me some nice things,” I said simply. “About how you’re always talking about me and Andy. And he said that he’d babysit whenever we need him to.” 

“Hmm,” Sebastian hummed softly. “Sounds promising. I really miss you, baby.” 

“I miss you too,” I told him. “Now, my love, you have work. Be good and kill Chris for me.” 

“Anything for you, my baby.” 

[fandomficsnstuff]

Little Dragon - Part 2

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

Daenerys Targaryen x child!Reader

Warnings: slight angst on Daenerys’ part.

High Valyrian is in cursive

Part 2

As you arrived outside the city, you looked around, you had never been outside of the city, not what you could remember, you had only dreamed of the freedom to do so, and here you stood. You looked up at the silver haired lady who set you free, she had promised to show you her dragons, creatures you had only read about. You were starting to get disappointed, you were just standing in a field, that is until you heard a screech that made you grab the skirt of Daenerys, hiding yourself behind her side. Daenerys was starting to wonder if this was a good idea, you were just a little kid, what if something happened to you? What if her dragons hurt you? And her fears only grew as her dragons soared above your heads, landing in front of them, and she almost held you back but you had gotten out of her reach, approaching one of the dragons, Rhaegal. Daenerys could hear her heart beating in her ears, her heart hammering against her chest with worry, yes Rhaegal was the kindest and gentlest of all her children, but he was still a dragon, her eyes set on you, watching every move you made towards the dragons, slowly regretting this more and more, until she saw you touch Rhaegal on the nose, giggling up at him with joy in your eyes. The dragons were just a bit larger than you by now, and still growing, but you had no fear for them, and they seemed to like you, both Viserion and Drogon approaching you, making you laugh and pet all three of them, switching between them.

Daenerys exhaled heavily in relief, Missandei coming up beside her, holding her up as Daenerys felt a bit weak, but as you looked back she just nodded at you and grinned, making you look back at the dragons. You seemed to have taken a special liking to Rhaegal, and it seemed likewise. The other dragons had flown off, but Rhaegal stayed by you, almost snuggling up against you. Rhaegal was the calmest and sweetest of the three, but still a dragon, one wrong move and-

“What are their names?” you asked, breaking Daenerys out of her thoughts, she smiled to you once again “the black and red is called Drogon, the lighter one is Viserion, and the one green one you’re petting is called Rhaegal'' she answered, making you look back at Rhaegal, but glanced to the sky at the two others that soared about “I like them” you said, looking back at the silver haired Queen, making her grin even wider “good, I do too, but let’s go back, you can visit them tomorrow” you looked at Rhaegal, and did something that stunned her, you put your forehead against Rhaegal’s head, something she did with Drogon when they were smaller, small enough to be on her arms. You moved away from Rhaegal, waving at the dragons as you walked back to Daenerys who smiled down at you, and extended her hand to you, taking it as you walked back to the Great Pyramid.

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It had been a few days since you had met the Dragon Queen, in person, and her dragons. You were still living in the Great Pyramid, but you had barely seen Daenerys, she had Missandei check on you a few times per day, but she was busy too, so was Daario, Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan, who you had all gotten to meet. You were in your room, not really having anything to do, you even considered leaving, the first few days had been spent exploring and enjoying your room, it was big, way bigger than you ever thought you could have, and you explored it to the full extent, but today, today you had nothing to do. You sat on your bed, looking around bored, that is until you heard a low screech, a screech you knew. You jumped off the bed and saw Rhaegal land on your balcony, you giggled and ran to him, hugging his scaly neck before stepping back, he had gotten so big, and it had only been a few days.

You spent hours just petting Rhaegal and talking to him, he even acted like he understood you, or perhaps he did. Your playing session with Rhaegal was interrupted by the sound of Daenerys entering your room “(Y/N)? I have someone I would like you to meet-” she was cut short seeing Rhaegal in your room, and she turned even paler than she already was, horrified for a few seconds as her eyes scanned you for any injury, but seeing none, she relaxed. She sighed heavily in relief that you were okay, walking further into the room “why is Rhaegal in your room?” you just shrugged at her question, playing with the different spikes on Rhaegal’s neck, and he didn’t seem to mind, he actually looked like he enjoyed it, surprising Daenerys even more. She shook herself out of her thoughts “well, I have someone I would like you to meet, so he will have to leave” she sighed seeing your sad look “can he come back later?” you asked, looking up at her with those big, round beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes, making it hard for Daenerys to deny you, so she simply nodded with a calm smile, making you grin widely as Rhaegal left, you waving after him as he flew out of your open balcony and away.

You looked back at Daenerys, who introduced you to a teacher, she wanted you to learn the common tongue, she wanted you to learn history, to learn everything about everything, a prospect that both excited you and made you scrunch your nose. Daenerys laughed a bit at your childish behavior, but it was to be expected from you, you were only ten after all. But you sat down with the teacher nonetheless, and she sat with you for two hours, helping you pronounce the different words, calm you when you got upset that you didn’t understand one word, and helped define another. She was proud, by the end of the day, you could speak a few sentences in the common tongue, she was very proud indeed, a feeling she only felt towards her dragons, her children.

After the teacher had left for the day you were tired, Daenerys ate supper with you before putting you to bed, about to leave before you grabbed her hand, tiredly wanting her to stay, which you mumbled, barely audible, but she made out one word that shocked her, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, ‘Mhysa’. She sat at the edge of the bed, holding your hand as you fell asleep. She sat with you for so long that Daario came looking for her, and when he found her she sat at the edge of your bed, still holding your hand with a blissful smile, dried tears on her cheeks. She looked to Daario, grinning widely before looking back at you, gently stroking your forehead with her free hand. She kissed your forehead before going to her own chambers with Daario, a smile on her face the entire way and an odd form of peace within her.

[sweetiepie08]

All I Ask of You (Chap 4)

The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance fic

Deet x Rian

She walked into his life when all seemed lost. He accepted her when the other surface dwellers didn’t. She was gentle. He was brave. Their first impressions dwelt in their minds and their feelings grew as their journey wore on. They supported each other, comforted each other, and gave each other strength. Together, they were a light in the darkness.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2.  Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. 

[-] 

Standing hand in hand at Stone-in-the-Wood, they watched the Crucible until the last blue flame died out. Rian’s question lingered in their minds. “Will they come?” She knew his faith in their fellow gelfling was tested time after time on their journey. Would they believe him? Would they help him? Would they see the truth? He'd been let down so many times, it was no wonder there was still doubt.

“I think so,” she assured him, placing her other hand on his. “Brea and Gurjin and the rest will, at least. And they may bring others.” She offered him a smile, a genuine one. It was a relief to see Brea safe and the rest of their friends away from harm.

He returned her smile, but it faded into his exhausted expression. “We'd better get ready, then.”

His hand slipped out of hers as he began walking off toward one of the buildings. It left an impression, just like his touch always did, as if her skin wanted to savor the sensation. Even now, she could feel him in her memory. His weight in her arms as she carried him through the breath of Thra, the hand he laid on her back after their crash to make sure she was alright, her arms wrapped around him as he carried her out of the cave's mouth… He had a way of making her feel protected and safe with only the touch of his hands, and the feeling always lingered.

His acts of gallantry didn't end there. She watched him slip back into the soldier as they journeyed through the caves of Grot. He led her, sword in hand, ready to face any danger they may encounter. He insisted on entering her house first, just in case there were any arathim inside. When a darkened nurloc attacked, he drew the creature to himself so she could escape.

She understood the impulse to protect well. After all, she’d done the same for him. When the Hunter infiltrated the Circle of the Suns, she instinctively jumped in front of Rian, not thinking of her own safety or how to defend herself. Her only thought was that she didn't want to see him harmed again.

She followed him to a large stone building behind them Maudra’s home. They found the door padlocked. Rian disappeared into the Maudra’s home for a brief moment and returned with the key.

“What is this?” Deet asked.

“The Armory,” Rian answered, unlocking the door. “The Stonewood have a saying. ‘The hand that wields the blade cannot help the fall into their feet, but there are times when the blade is necessary.’ So, we're always prepared.” He swung the doors open, revealing the stores of Stonewood weapons. Armor hung on the walls. Spears, axes, and swords rested in their stands. “Traditionally, when a Stonewood warrior's battle is over, they melt their blade down in the Crucible. The metal is then forged into new blades when they are needed again.”

“Excuse me but…” She glanced towards the courtyard, “those blades didn’t look melted to me.”

“Yes, the Crucible stopped working after the Arathim Wars. I imagine the glaive had something to do with that. Perhaps Thra knew we would need them again before long.”

They stepped in and looked around. The empty space on the shelves and walls gave some clue as to what exactly happened to the Stonewood Warriors.

“It seems your clan got your message, after all,” Deet said, noting an empty axe-shaped space on the wall surrounded by a layer of dust.

“Yes,” he murmured, gently leaning the glaive against a wall. “If I hadn't seen more Maudra Fara in the flames, I'd be fearing the worst.”

Together, they spent the rest of the afternoon taking inventory and counting supplies. Once that was finished, Rian took up the duel glaive again. He held it up to the light and ran his fingers carefully along the edge. He didn’t seem satisfied with what he found.

“For a legendary sword, this thing could stand to be a lot sharper,” he quipped, taking a fresh whetstone off the shelf. “I think we've done about all we can here, at least until we see who shows up.”  He took the keys and started out. “Come on. I think I've got a surprise.”

“What's that?”

He cast her smirk over his shoulder “How would you like to sleep with a roof over your head for a change?”

They walked away from the armory and he led her to a house not far from the village square. It was a charming home carved into the trunk of a tree. There was a little path lined with rocks leading up to it. Colored glass bobbles and a bird feeder hung from the lower branches. It looked dark, especially in the twilight of the setting suns, but she could so easily imagine it lit up with candles and a warm fire.

“I this your house?” she asked as Rian reached into a knot on the side of the tree and pulled out a spare key.

“It is now, I guess,” he said. “This was my grandmother's house. I spent my summers here as a childling. She passed away a few unumn before all this chaos started. It passed to my father and now…” He unlocked the door without another word and they went inside.

It was dark and very still. She could see the fireplace, some soft chairs, a sofa and a rug on the floor. It looked cozy and lived in. It looked like a home and it made her heart ache for her own. “It's lovely.”

“Thank you. This is probably my favorite place in Thra, to be honest.” He looked around with a gentle fondness in his eyes. “Some of my happiest memories are here.”

“Those summers you talked about? When your father would visit? Camping and fizzgig hunting?”

A smile spread on his lips. “Yes exactly. It'll be nice to spend at least one more night here. Whatever happens tomorrow…” The warmth in his face quickly faded to dread. That happened to him so easily and it made her heart hurt every time.

She put her hand on his shoulder as if she could transfer some of her warmth to him. “Let's try to make it fun, then.”

“Fun?” he said as if he didn't know the meaning of the word.

“Yes, let's pretend we're just two gelfling spending a quiet night together. Tomorrow is just an ordinary day.”

He looked amused for a moment but that, too, faded quickly. “As tempting as that is, I've had enough comforting lies for one lifetime.”

“It's not a lie. It's a game,” she said, putting some playfulness into her voice.

“The way a childling plays house?”

“Yes, that's it. We'll pretend we live a peaceful life here and we're just enjoying our evening the way we usually would.”

“Alright.” A genuine grin broke like daylight on his face. “But if we're going to play, we'll need characters.”

“She beamed at him. Now he was catching on. “Good idea. I'll be Miss Hollerbat and I'm an herbalist.”

“I'm Mr. Nebrie, the cobbler.

“Alright,” she laughed. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Nebrie.”

“Enchanted, Miss Hollerbat.” He stepped forward and kissed her hand.

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “You have a lovely home, Mr. Nebrie.”

“Thank you Miss Hollerbat. I'm so glad you could visit.” His eyes drifted to the kitchen. “Let's just hope there's food in it.”

“I'll start a fire while you look.”

“Sounds good.” He flashed her a smile as he headed toward the kitchen. “Please make yourself at home.”

“For that, we might need to move this place quite far underground,” she quipped, looking for flint stones.

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” he said, laughter in his voice.

The sound made her heart swell. “And of course we'll need a few dozen nurloc.”

“Nurloc might be hard to come by,” he retorted, keeping up his playful tone, “but you can trip over a few hundred fizzgig at any given moment.”

Rian managed to scrape together enough food for a stew, although he did have to check other people’s gardens and hope a few vegetables wouldn't be missed. He also found a bottle of Spriton berry wine for them to share. Once supper was ready, they sat together by the fire to eat. When they finished, they sipped their wine as the fire crackled and they continue to their game.

“So how was your day, Mr. Nebrie,” Deet asked, taking a sip from her glass.

“Well, let’s see,” Rian mused. “I woke up, had breakfast, tripped over about a hundred fizzgig…”

“You said that about the fizzgig, already,” she pointed out, giggling.

“You don't understand they're usually everywhere. Just a truly ridiculous amount of fizzgig wherever you look.” He put down his glass so he could gesture more freely. Deet laughed as he became more animated. “A lot of people keep them as pets, but my father always said ‘why bother when there are going to be at least three barking at your door any moment?’”

“Didn't you say you hunted fizzgig as a childling?”

“Yes but we never kept them,” he explained smiling at the memory. “We just gave them some belly rubs and some berries for their troubles and let them go.”

“Oh, that's sweet.” She could so easily imagine tiny Rian playing gently with the fuzzy creatures.

“Actually, when I was a childling, we had this neighbor. Orla was her name. She was the sweetest little old lady and she kept about five fizzgig at a time. They were the gentlest, most docile creatures you ever saw.                They left every living thing in Thra alone except my father.” A nostalgic twinkle came to his eye as he spoke. “My mother and I could always tell when he was almost home because all five would start yapping at once. I don't know what he did to earn their ire, but they never let it go. Those fizzgig and Maudra Fara were the only creatures in Thra who could irritate my father on purpose and get away with it.”

“Maudra Fara?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I'm fairly certain teasing my father to his face was a favorite hobby of hers.” A shadow passed over his face. “I imagine she’ll miss that.”

“Perhaps she can tease you instead,” Deet suggested, hoping to lighten his mood.

He shook his head. “I don't think it will have the same appeal. A lot of my friends tease me all the time, but no one messed with my father.” His smile faded as he looked away from her. He went quiet for a moment. His eyes fogged over as he lost himself in thought.

Deet reached out to him. “Rian?”

He looked up and flashed her a forced smile. “I'm fine.” He let out a deep breath and continued their game. “So Miss Hollerbat, how are you enjoying Stone-in-the-Wood so far?” he asked, taking another sip from his wine glass.

“Oh, it's been wonderful,” she answered, feeling the warmth in her chest. “There's so many beautiful plants and animals that I've never seen before. And I've met the sweetest gelfling… maybe not here, exactly, but near here. He is a Stonewood, though. He’s great friend. He really helped me feel welcome on the surface, like I'm not so strange after all.”

“I'm sorry Miss Hollerbat, but that's impossible,” he interjected firmly.

“Excuse me?”

“I happen to know the sweetest gelfling in Thra is a Grotton named Deet.” The way he looked at her made her heart beat wildly. “She's the kindest soul I've ever met. She's really been a great friend, too. I don't know if I'd have made it this far without her. I just hope that, with everything that lies ahead, I can keep her safe.”

She reached out and put her hand on his, her heart racing all the while. “I know my friend Rian is very brave. I've seen him put himself between his friends in danger many times before. And he does it because he has so much love in his heart. Whatever happens tomorrow, I'll know he fought his hardest to protect everyone. It's too big a job for one gelfling to take on alone, but he tries anyway. I just hope he knows he's not alone and he'll always be my kind, brave friend.”

“Deet always knows the best things to say,” he choked out. She could hear tears behind his voice. He took her other hand, looking at her with glistening eyes. “What should he and say to her to tell her how much she's helped him?”

“He doesn't have to say anything. It's what friends do.”

“What do you think Deet would like Rian to say to her?” He asked, leaning closer.

“Well,” she paused to collect her thoughts and attempt to stop her head from spinning. “I imagine it made her feel really good whenever he told her he didn't think she was weird. After so many gelfling made her feel like she didn't belong, it was nice to hear out loud that someone accepted her.”

He flashed a mischievous grin. “I’ll bet Rian would like to know the names of these gelflings so he can have a little talk with them about how wonderful deed is and tell them they are idiots for not seeing it.”

“Deet would probably say it's alright because he's already made her feel safe and accepted and…” She searched her mind for something to add, but she’d lost herself in the sparkling blue of his eyes. “…and he gives great hugs.”

“I'll have to tell her she should try hugging Gurjin sometime to compare,” he laughed. “And I should tell her that just being around her has made everything that happened more bearable.”

“I'll have to tell him that just being around him makes her happy.”

“And I'll tell her she makes the world seem more beautiful even when times are hard.”

“And I'll tell him he makes the surface feel more like home.”

“And I’ll-” He stopped himself short and seem to deflate. “No…” he muttered to himself. “That's too much to ask.”

“What?”

He let go of her hand and stood up, leaving the ghost of his touch behind. “It's just… I've lost so many gelfling I love on this journey…” He leaned on the mantle watched the fireplace as the logs burned and crackled. He went quiet for a long time, seeming to struggle with something in his mind. Finally he whispered her name. “Deet, I would accept one more comforting lie if only you say it.”

“What is it?”

“Could… could you say you love me?” He looked at her and his eyes broke her heart. “You don't have to meet it. It can just be part of our game. But just hearing the words…”

“I can't,” she whispered.

He nodded and turned back to the fire. “I understand.”

She stood up, her heart pounding, and put her hand on his shoulder. “I can't because that is not a lie.”

“Deet..” He turned to her and gently laid his hands on her face, looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time. “It's not a lie from me either.”

He kissed her and she stumbled backward a few steps. Her heart felt like it could burst. She could hardly believe what was happening. She threw her arms around him and kissed him back.

“Deet,” he whispered, drawing back for a breath. “Promise me we're not pretending anymore. Promise me that all you say is true.”

“It's true,” she said breathlessly. “I promise. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They stumbled backward together onto the sofa. She held onto him tight, like he was a dream that would disappear in the morning. He said he loved her and she felt it in her heart that this was true, but she also knew the wine and the pressure of the night could have played with their minds. If not for that, would she have taken her first bold step? Would he have answered her confession with one of his own? Is there any point in wondering now that they were together?

At some point, they lost their balance and came crashing to the floor, bringing the cushions down with them. She was so light with joy, she could do nothing but laugh. When she looked over, she saw him laughing too. She loved everything about his laugh, from the sound, to the sparkle in his eye, to the wrinkle in his nose. She could see why Mira would be cross with him if he stopped forever.

But then his laughter died and she followed his eyes to something glimmering on the floor.

It was a bracelet made from iridescent blue beads. Carefully, he picked it up and ran his fingers gently along the stones, staring at it with a haunted look in his eye.

“What is that?” Deet asked.

“This is Mira’s” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was looking for this. She thought it’d fallen off on the landstrider ride back to the castle.”

Deet reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Mira would always be a shadow over Rian’s life. She knew that he never fully be over her. She didn't expect him to, not after losing her so horribly.

Rian let out a breath and his haunted eyes turned to her. “I- I'm sorry… this doesn't… I still meant everything I said.”

“You miss her,” she said, matter-of-fact. It was the truth. It was how he felt. There was no need to deny it.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“What for?”

“I love you, I do, but…”

“But you're still grieving her,” she finished for him. “You lost someone you loved. You're allowed to miss her.”

He shook his head like he didn’t deserve her words. “You're too kind. I mean it. You're too understanding. You deserve someone who can give you all their heart.”

His words struck her like a bolt and she could feel her heart begin to sink. “Oh…” Maybe we were still just pretending after all.

He saw the sadness on her face and jumped up in a panic. “Not that I don't. I mean… I just… it's complicated.”

“I know…”

He gently took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I love you,” he promised, his sincerity clear in his voice. “I want you to know that wasn't a lie. I don't want to waste what this night could be.”

“Do you truly want to go on?” she asked, keeping her hands in her lap. “Is that what you really feel in your heart?”

He looked away and she watched him struggle in his heart. After a moment, he shut his eyes and shook his head. “I'm just not ready,” he said, letting his hands slide from her shoulders, “not yet.”

“You don't have to be ready.”

His eyes fell on the bracelet once again. “What if we don't get another chance?”

She slipped her hand into his. “What if we do?”

A shy smile broke through. He pushed back her hair and kissed her temple. “One day,” he promised in her ear.

They spent the rest of the evening curled up next to each other, watching the fire crackle and finishing the bottle of wine. It was comfortable and cozy. She felt at home here, not necessarily in Stone-in-the-Wood, but in his arms. He held her close and she nestled into him. Occasionally they stole a light kiss on the hand or cheek.

There was an understanding between them. They loved each other, that much was true, but Rian needed more time. After everything he'd been through, that was to be expected. But he promised her one day, and he was not sort of gelfling to make empty promises. One day his grief will fade into remembrance, the turmoil will pass, and they will be together in every way to gefling in love can.

When sleep began to hover over them, they cleaned up and went to bed. Rian invited her to share his. Neither of them wanted to be alone. This night was particularly treacherous and their bodies provided the warmth and comfort they both craved. They didn't make love that night, but now Deet longed for the day they would. She was confident that promised day would come. With him, she was sure it would be wonderful. And to think, not long ago, the idea of kissing him it seemed impossible.

Deet woke in the night to see Rian sleeping soundly next to her. She smiled. She liked seeing him like this, calm and peaceful. One day, she promised in her heart, you won't have to live your life on the run. You'll be safe and free of fear. And you'll be happy.

She reached out to brush his bangs off with his face, but she saw thin, purple line glow in the dark. She drew back her hand and the glow moved with it. It was her. The glow was inside her veins.

Before she could think on this further, Rian shifted. His eyes fluttered open. “Deet,” he said, his voice heavy with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered. “The suns haven't risen yet.”

“You need to sleep too,” he muttered. “We'll need all our strength tomorrow.”

“Of course, I was just about to.”

A lazy smile spread on his lips. He left her kiss on her nose and drifted back off.

She rolled over and settled back down into her pillow, keeping her hands tucked close to her body. Sleep took her as she hid her worry away in the back of her mind.

The next morning, she woke to the sunlight pouring in from the window. She could feel his arm around her waist, holding her, protecting her. She looked down at her own hands. She didn't see a purple glow from the night before, but she could still feel something stirring deep inside her.

“Are you awake?” he asked.

She rolled over to face him. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” He smiled at her, brighter than all three suns. But his face took on the look of a soldier as he remembered what this morning meant. “We should get going. There's a lot to do.”

What if we don't? She thought. What if we stayed here and time stopped? And this moment could last forever?

She nodded. His arm slipped from her waist and he got out of bed, taking the warmth of his body with him.

But throughout the day, just like always, everything about him, the touch of his hands, the warmth of his smile, the sweetness of his kiss… lingered.  

[supremehavok]

Keep Yourself Alive ||

Part 2! And I’m sorry I keep leaving the chapters on question cliffhangers it just happens lol

“Boy or girl?”

(Y/n) and Spencer broke apart in a pattern of sighs. They lived in this single moment where everything felt easy, for a moment they don’t have to think of the hard parts of this new development. For a moment all they had to worry about was nursery decorations and baby names.

“I don’t know,” Spencer started “I never thought too hard about it. Actually, there was this one time I had a dream about it. It was a while ago maybe three..four years ago?”

“Really now?” (Y/n) took Spencer’s hand into hers. She gave it a gentle squeeze as she looked up at him ready to hang onto every word.

“Yeah, it always seemed stuck with me. I was somewhere in Lexington, in a little house in a neighborhood with lots of birds. I was sitting on a blue couch and right next to me was this little girl” Spencer looked down at the floor with a small smile that was beginning to form fully on his pink lips.

“She was holding onto my fingers, laughing, the biggest most beautiful smile on her face,” Spencer looked up and his big brown eyes stared right back at (Y/n), his heart felt like it was swelling. It was already beating hard against his chest the excitement and tremors of affection he felt all at the same time made him feel like he could explode.

“She looked so much like you” he finally said in a hushed tone.

(Y/n) held Spencer’s hand tighter. Pushing her bottom lip between her teeth and smiled.

“Spence,” (Y/n) started.

“ Maybe I have always wanted a girl. I’d be happy with anything, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll never get the image of that little girl out of my head. I think about it every now and then. I always hoped she’d be a reality”.

(Y/n) let go of Spencer’s hand, taking his cheek into her palm she ran her thumb over the smooth area. In the end this was the best result she could have hoped for. Spencer was happy, smiling and hoping for a beautiful and healthy child. (Y/n) brought Spencer’s face to hers and grazed her lips over his. Spencer felt his hands wander (Y/n)’s back and he kept her close, feeling the edges of her shoulder blades and the relaxing of her muscles under his touch.

This was it.

He finally had the chance to take care of her. All those years of her playing as his protector, she was his partner out in the field after all, but there were always moments where Spencer wished he could step out of his fearful bubble and be her knight in shining armor. It made him laugh, how could she ever see him as her hero? (Y/n) was a hero. She saved innocent people everyday, she stared down evil everyday and put her life on the line and always came out on top.

In Spencer’s mind (Y/n) would be a lovely mother. She was a natural protector with the gentlest interior that complimented her disciplined exterior. Spencer was ultimately afraid.

Is this the best thing?

Can I even do this?

Spencer rested his forehead against (Y/n)’s, he contemplated everything so deeply he closed the whole world off, completely lost in his own mind. He barely processed the feeling of (Y/n) pressing a light kiss on his nose. He sighed.

“Do you think I can do this?” He asked.

“Spence, two months ago I watched you deliver a baby while conducting a hostage negotiation. You saved that little boy and his mother, you’re a hero. And I know when this baby grows up they’re gonna look up to their dad and they’re gonna go to school and tell all their friends ‘my daddy’s a superhero’. So yes Spence I do think you can do this. You have such a big capacity for love, you have just so much love in your heart and I know you’re gonna give this kid the world. Even if you think you can right now so know you’ll find your footing eventually”.

Spencer took (Y/n)’s hand tightly and let his head drop. As he stared down at his shoes he fought the urge to not get lost in his thoughts again. He was fighting to keep his own insecurities at bay in order to keep his head in the real issues. (Y/n) was his life at this point, through thick and thin she was his best friend and nothing would change that. Not a hundred fights or a million miles of land between them, she always came back, never really leaving.

“I love you (Y/n)” Spencer croaked, it felt like he could barely hold onto his voice.

“I love you to Spencer. And I know that once this high is over we’re gonna have to deal with the tough stuff, but right now we should ride it out for as long as we can. Okay?”.

“Should we tell the others now?”.

“No,” (Y/n) looked up and nearly stepped away from Spencer’s grip. “It’s not the right time. Could we wait? Just for a little bit”.

“Of course,” Spencer kisses the top of (Y/n)’s head and embraces her again, nothing but the sound of their shared breathing filled the room.

Nothing was gonna be easy. Change was inevitable and as Spencer identified as a creature of habit he didn’t find it at all comforting. But it would be worth it in the long run. Two nights later (Y/n) went home after the case closed and called her mom; she told her about her day and asked about the weather in Fort Collins. She kept everything to herself still, never letting it slip that in nine months (Y/m/n) would be a grandma.

(Y/n) smiled as she gossiped with her mother giddily; sometimes she believed she never smiled for so long unless she was with her mother, but her conversation was cut short when her phone vibrated against her cheek and startled her.

“I have to go mom, I’ll call you tomorrow night. I love you,” (Y/n) hung up the phone and swiped through the message.

Her eyes scanned the message from Spencer and without warning her heartbeat began to rapidly pound within her.

Are we gonna get married?

[osricandhisshrunkenhand]

In another life.

A short and likely very rusty piece of writing for @deafield . I’m sorry that it’s turned out to maybe be more angst than fluff but it’s an attempt. It’s also short - again apologies. 

“Grinpayne?” Dea called out as the young man walked away from the caravan. He could still hear her, hear her calling him but he was so distracted. The letter in his hand and the people around him almost overwhelming in their intensity. How could he be this ‘monster’ everyone wanted him to be. This creature that could cure ills and save lives. He wanted to call it nonsense and shrug it all off as a fluke but he’d seen with his own eyes as Osric’s hand had healed, the damage that had once afflicted him fading as he held it in his own. It was the stuff of fairytales. Not of life. 

“Grinpayne?” 

He heard her again, the letter in his hands heavy as he thought about the words within, about the person who had seen him and it had changed their lives so immensely that they had sought him out. Did he have a responsibility to this person, the one person he knew had seen him, seen past his face and to the person he was deep within. 

“Grinpayne?” 

Fainter now. But, his name, said by the woman he loved, sitting in their home. That was all he needed. He turned, the distractions breaking away as he looked at her, her eyes searching for him, some quiet desperation in her heart as she looked without sight. 

He loved her. Truly. It was the only thing he knew in this world. The only constant. Dea, his Dea. Father had left them over the years, spending weeks travelling to sell his wares in distant lands but he had had Dea since the day he had found her in the snow. All he wanted in this life was to know that he had her and she had him. So damn the letters, damn the praise. They were static. 

“I’m right here Dea.” Grinpayne muttered, the gashes under his bandage aching with the movement as he turned, knowing she would have heard him through the babble. He made his way towards her, reaching out to take her hand as he crouched, wanting to be level. “I’m here.” 

Dea’s expression broke into a grin and it solidified the feeling in Grinpayne’s heart. This was where he belonged, not following some letter to a destiny far beyond his station. He wasn’t built for fame or recognition. He found no joy there. 

“You think too much.” Dea said, as if she could hear his thoughts, reading him like a book. “Take a break, supper will be ready soon and you promised we could play games afterwards.” She said, holding his hand in hers as she spoke, giving it the gentlest of squeezes, a question in  their language - the one of hands. 

Grinpayne sunk a little deeper to the floor as he leaned forwards, forehead resting on her leg as he breathed, hand squeezing back the confirmation that yes he was fine and yes he could play games. “I don’t deserve you Dea.” He said, knowing that his thoughts, even though they had stayed as such, had been a betrayal. 

“Oh you’re speaking nonsense Grinpayne. You deserve me as much as I deserve you.” She replied, her endless optimism warming something in the young man’s heart as it cooled something in his brain. 

“Not if you knew what I know. If you could see me. If you really knew.” He mumbled, knowing this was a repeat of a conversation they’d been having year after year ever since they’d first said those three words. “You deserve someone who you can know completely.” 

Dea chuckled. “I do know you completely. You’re my world. You, and father, and Mojo. I know you all better than you maybe know yourselves.” She spoke and for the first time Grinpayne believed her.

[poppy-pelican]

Darkness on Fire (fic) Epilogue

Rating: Explicit (this chapter is K+)

Fandom: FMA

Summary: Alphonse reflects on his mistakes but finds hope for the future.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692747/chapters/67479550

Six Years Later

 “How long will you be gone?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“Are you sure you’ll be safe?”

“Yes. It’s not even remotely dangerous.”

“Maybe you should take one of the boys with you.”

Alphonse shared a look with his brother. Ed was about to lose it. His whole body trembled, brimming with amusement as his face turned pink.

“Or maybe Ed and I will just go to the market for you,” Al volunteered, watching Roy go slack with relief. His wife wrinkled her nose.

“I’m being clingy again.” Riza’s cheeks were rosy, belly unmistakably pregnant—the reason for Al and Ed’s visit to Central. Their mother had sent them to help. Whatever that meant. “I’m sorry. It’s the hormones.”

Roy kissed his wife on the top of her head. “Trisha warned us this would happen. It’s fine.”

They were adorable. Ed made a gagging noise, but Al knew he had used alchemy to make a little stuffed bear for the baby already. Somewhere along the way, Roy and Riza had become like family, so this baby was like a new cousin. Considering Al and Ed didn’t have any cousins, they were out of their element.

Thank god Winry had tagged along.

“I’ll go with them to make sure they don’t mess it up,” Winry said, taking the shopping list from Roy.

Roy sat back down on the couch beside his wife, putting her feet in his lap. He wasn’t going anywhere until the baby was born, based on the few days Al had been staying with them. Riza had one major craving, and it was her husband’s blood. At this point, Al thought they should focus all their efforts on keeping the man hydrated.

After Roy and Riza had married, they had moved to the outskirts of Central, which Al appreciated whenever they visited. Not only was it closer to Resembool, but it was far away from where the events of his greatest mistake took place. Even now, as they walked down the road to the markets the gentlest clink could be heard as Ed walked with his automail leg. Worse than that was the memory of sitting on a bridge with an ancient creature in the form of a young boy, waiting for the sunlight to weaken him before he shot himself and sunk down into the river.

Sometimes Al thought he should have stopped him, tried harder to talk him out of it, but…he really didn’t think vampires were meant to live so long. His father assured him he’d done the right thing. A vampire had the right to choose their own time after living so long.

“I can’t believe they’re having a little baby soon,” Winry said, her voice tinged with immeasurable excitement. She had begged to come, citing that she had never seen a vampire baby.

A vampire baby, just like Al and Ed had once been. A baby that wouldn’t exist if Riza hadn’t become a vampire. Al tried to remind himself of this whenever his guilt threatened to consume his thoughts. Because stronger than his guilt over his brother’s leg or Selim Bradley, was his guilt over Riza’s death.

If helping Riza could in any way atone for it, Al was prepared to carry her all the way to Xing on his back if he had to. He knew Ed felt the same way, even if he was quieter about it.

“Hey, Winry, could you help pick out a gift for Riza? Not just the baby?” Al asked. The baby was already spoiled rotten, but watching Riza putter around the house worrying about the nursery, her husband, what they should eat for dinner…

Yes, she deserved a present.

“Oh, good idea!” Winry said. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Some nice slippers? She seems to have trouble…bending over to get her shoes on,” Al said.

“And she likes those orange chocolates,” Ed said, blushing when Winry gave him an impressed look.

“How about some flowers?” Al added.

“Flowers are always a good idea,” Winry agreed. “I know I love to get flowers.”

Al watched to see if his idiot brother got the hint. Based on Ed’s shifty expression, he did. Things had been changing between Ed and Winry ever since he lost his leg, but as Ed began taking assignments from Roy, the two had begun writing to each other with a fervor. If they were secretly dating, Al wouldn’t be surprised, though he wondered why they would bother to hide it. Everyone already assumed they were together.

Al could only grin when, in the middle of searching for orange chocolates, Winry suddenly had a small bouquet in her arms and Ed wore a smug blush and had a second bouquet under his arm.

Chocolates found and wrapped, shopping list complete, they returned to the Mustang home. As they grew closer, Al’s sensitive hearing picked up the light conversation between Riza and Roy.

“You can have more if you want,” Roy said. “I don’t mind. You know this.”

“I feel like a glutton,” she returned, but then she went oddly quiet and Al shared an amused look with Ed. It was wild how much a pregnant vampire could drink. Winry remained blissfully ignorant to the rather intimate sounds of Riza feeding from her husband.

There was little privacy between vampires.

“Oh!” Riza said, mildly surprised.

“What?”

“The baby woke up. Here, feel, they are kicking like crazy.”

Roy still had his hand on Riza’s belly when Al and the others joined them in the front room of the house after putting the shopping away. Roy’s face was lit with joy and Riza’s matched with perfect delight, contrasting with the faint scent of his freshly spilled blood still in the air.

“Is the baby kicking?” Winry asked, squishing in on Riza’s other side with perfect ease. “Can I feel?”

“Go ahead. Baby is unusually awake.”

“Ah! So strong!” Winry said, and even Al could see the way Riza’s belly wobbled under the strength of it. He wondered what it felt like. He’d never felt a baby kick before.

“You want to join in, boys?” Riza asked, and Roy reluctantly shifted away from her side to make room. “I’m due any day, so take your chance while you can.”

It was almost uncomfortably intimate, putting his hand to her stomach, but Al was struck by the miracle of it the moment the little foot pressed back against his palm. There really was a tiny baby in there.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Ed asked, looking warily between Riza and Al. Still uncertain.

“Well, we are planning to name you all honorary aunt and uncles,” Riza said. She smiled kindly at Al, as if she knew how breakable he felt in that moment. “Uncle Al will probably be the favorite.”

It was a balm to his soul, a taste of that forgiveness he was searching for. And he knew he would unhesitatingly die for this fragile new life kicking at his hand.

The urge to cry was overwhelming as his mind went from this moment to thinking of his parents doing the same for him and Ed as babies, all the way back to Selim Bradley’s sad creation. But for all the bad Selim brought, somehow, through changing Al’s father and Roy, taking Riza’s life…this little baby came to exist in this moment.

For a long time Al had thought if he could do over that day again, he would just wait it out for the adults to handle Selim, hope they put an end to it, spare Riza’s life. Now he was beginning to think Riza didn’t see it that way. She had made a little family out of her misfortunes, just as his parents had.

He smiled through his tears as the little foot kicked him again. After all the pain, something beautiful had come from it all. A bright light in the darkness.

[m-austinbooks]

Dear @midqueenally​, Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa! When I was reading through the list of AUs you liked, I saw “superhero” and went “ahhhh”. So here you go, a Modern Westeros!AU where Jonerys are a badass superhero duo and Christmas inexplicably exists.  I also wrote a little <2000 word drabble, which is kind of fluffy but with dark undertones(???). I hope you enjoy!

The Dragon Queen and The White Wolf

Daenerys had become a nocturnal creature. The night was where her enemies lived, darting into the shadows at the sound of her wingbeats. It was where Jon was strongest, stalking those enemies through Flea Bottom alleyways and catching them in his claws. It was when their baby son found his voice, wailing loud enough to raise those who still existed in the day.

The night before Christmas offered no break to that pattern. She and Jon curled up together on their favourite window-seat, watching the skies instead of the festive lights, leather and lycra peeping darkly from beneath their warm wools. It was hard not to watch her husband too, admire how the moonlight played over his handsome face. It scattered like a thousand stars in his night-black curls and turned his skin to scarred marble. His dark eyes flickered away from the glass when their son began to cry, and they rose together, smiling, sighing, fingers entwining as they crossed the room and looked into Aemon’s cot.

‘Aye, aye, we hear you, pup,’ Jon murmured, the low rasp of his voice settling deep in Daenerys’s stomach. He scooped their boy up, arms that could rend limbs from torsos cradling Aemon so gently. ‘Hush, little one.’

‘Like father, like son it seems,’ she teased, ‘howling at the moon.’

Only when Aemon’s crying had faded to sparse whimpers did her husband reply. ‘What’s this, Dany?’

‘That’s what you wolves do, isn’t it? Howl at the moon, hunt in the snow, sniff each other’s … hindquarters.’

Jon snorted where once he would have bristled, ‘Only at family reunions.’

Dany chuckled, rooting around in the cot for something for Aemon to chew. He was teething, and the canines that were coming through were already sharp as a Stark’s. The grip on the lion teething toy she gave him was supernaturally strong. Despite inheriting the star-bright hair of the Targaryens, Dany’s blue-green eyes, the wolfblood was strongest in him.

Jon seemed to map the path of her thoughts. ‘He’s a dragon too.’

‘In name only.’

For the other great superhero families, Stark and Tully, Lannister and Tyrell, power was a shared bond, but the blood of the dragon was something to bear alone, only kindling in the womb of a Targaryen mother after the previous Dragon died. It had been a lonely path to master her flames, her flight, poring over her long-dead brother Rhaegar’s notes for clues on how to control her gifts. But Rhaegar had died young with his observations incomplete, awaiting a revision that never came.

‘It’s not just about the powers,’ Jon insisted. ‘Otherwise, what would I be?’

Dany was feeling stubborn tonight. ‘Still a Stark. You have the wolfblood.’

Raising his eyebrows, Jon summoned a perfect sphere of ice and balanced it on the tip of his finger. He rarely acknowledged it, this strange twist to his Stark heritage: an unknown mother and ice powers.

Aemon gurgled in delight, grabbing at sphere with his tiny fingers. It was too cold for him, and he cried out when the shock of it went through his arm.

‘Yes, shiny, but cold bad.’ Jon passed the baby to Dany, whose skin was always warm.

‘I suppose he prefers the heat,’ she allowed, watching Aemon curl into her with a cheek-aching smile.

‘So do I,’ Jon’s low rumble was behind her, then tucked into her neck. Wrapping his arms around his family, he kissed up her face, paying special attention to the black scales that emerged at her temples whenever she stoked her inner fire. ‘How couldn’t I?’

Dany sagged back into him, admitting to herself that she preferred how fresh and cool he always felt. ‘You know, it seems pretty quiet out tonight. After we put Aemon back to sleep, we could…’ She reached back and slid a meaningful hand down her husband’s thigh.

‘Aye, we definitely could…’

The warning blare of their phone cut him off immediately, not the normal handset she kept for social calls and dentist appointments, but the one with their police liaison waiting on the other end, ready to disclose which of Dany’s enemies had scuttled out of the shadows this time.

‘Of course,’ she said, kissing Aemon on the top of his curly head before lowering him back into his cot.

‘Bet it’s the Hero Flayer.’ Jon shrugged out of his jumper, slipped out of his jeans. ‘Only he would be enough of an arse to start something on Christmas Eve.’

‘Don’t validate that stupid name.’

‘What should I call him then? Pinkie? Creeper? Git we should have pegged as a murderous psychopath from the first day of Hero School?’

‘The last one,’ Dany murmured as she picked up their work phone. Jon searched the room for his personal mobile, and an eyeful of the back of him in his skintight super-suit made her miss Missandei’s first words.

‘Sorry, Missie. Dragon Queen is ready to go. White Wolf is also on standby. How can we help?’

Missandei’s voice was oddly terse. ‘We have a hostage situation at the Wall.’

‘The Wall? That’s Stark territory, and very far for us here.’

‘The Starks are there, but the situation requires Team Winged Wolf’s specific talents.’

‘Who is it? The Mountain. Crow’s Eye? … Hero Flayer?’

‘Someone new, unlike anyone we’ve ever seen before. He can summon blizzards wherever he goes. And there's something else, though this has been harder to verify. Something about … corpses … reanimating.’

‘Corpses?’ She tried to match Missie’s sober tone and imagine an opponent formidable enough to summon her so many leagues north. But all vague thoughts of danger dissipated in this warm room, where her family was safe and Jon played with his son’s feet as he made his own phone call.

‘It sounds … fantastical, but there are hundreds of eyewitnesses and almost as many casualties. The number is growing. Dragon Queen, the Starks – in their full capacity as wardens in the North –  have declared a state of emergency. They need your flames. Please, hurry.’

‘Understood, we’re on our way.’ She set the phone down with a heavy click.

Jon approached, reclaiming her attention. ‘Gilly answered. She promised to drag Sam up to our floor in a couple of minutes.’ The look on her face was enough to make him pause. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked.

‘Trouble at the Wall, we need to be quick.’

‘The Wall?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

They donned the rest of their armour with practised efficiency: gloves, boots, masks and, in Dany’s case, a rich, red cape. Sam and Gilly arrived quickly, still in their pyjamas, their own little boy sleeping in his mother’s arms. And knowing that their son was watched, they took the stairs up to the roof.

On the rooftop, despite the tapestry of Christmas lights unfurling far into the distance, she noticed the dark most, the dark and the bitter cold. The idea of undead creatures held a little more power out here.

‘And so do I,’ she reminded herself, letting her flames spread within her, then without. Jon sighed beside her, drawing closer to her heat despite his indifference to the cold. ‘My love, we’re about to face something a little different today. Something in the North is waking the dead. Your family are fighting, but they need us.’

There was no doubt from him, no smirking scepticism. He just stared at her with those dark, wolf-wild eyes and nodded, ice collecting in his palms. ‘All right, let’s go,’ he said.

Dany was and would always be the only dragon in her lifetime. She had grappled with her gifts on her own, spent long, lonely years fighting to suppress them before she could even bring herself to accept, explore and master them. But she had found her match in Jon, the man who never flinched from her flames. The man who could follow her off the edge of rooftops, skating through the sky beside her on rivers of ice. The man who stood with her when Goldcloak searchlights stamped dragons and direwolves across the blackening sky, mask on, claws out, as hungry for the blood of his enemies as she was. And when the fight was over, he was the man who could melt into her arms without hesitation, who would hold the little dragon-wolf they had made together with the gentlest hands. With Jon at her side, she could do anything.

 The last of her fear slipped away. 

The Wall glimmered on the horizon long before they reached it, and the dark, formless mass that churned beneath it, she saw that too. Her rage burned hot. How many lives had already been stolen tonight? How quickly could she end these enslavers of the dead? Could she defeat them all in one night?

As they sped closer, she took a deep breath, running through the plans she and Jon had tossed between them on the flight over, picking the ones that best fit the situation sprawling beneath them. Jon called out to her, catching his siblings roving along the top of the Wall. It was nowhere as tall as it was once claimed to be in hyperbolic, semi-historical textbooks, but it was a great vantage point to slash at the undead citizens that climbed up to kill them. Unfortunately, they were not alone up there. Strange, tall creatures encrusted in ice stalked them along the Wall, taking their time, waiting for the Starks to tire themselves out. 'They’re like the White Walkers of old,’ Jon whispered. ‘I heard stories about them as a child. I thought they were just stories.’

‘Let’s see what fire does to them,’ she said.

‘Give them all the seven hells,’ Jon growled.

She dove towards her goodbrothers and sisters like a silent spear. Jon’s family were giving the Others a wide berth, but an uncontrolled strike could still hit them, burn them, kill them. Still Jon had sent her off with nothing more than a vicious smile, his trust absolute. The knowledge gave her power, precision and just a little spark of joy, despite the bleakness off the night.

‘Dracarys!’ she hissed, and the frozen world before her bloomed with fire.

[lighteyed]

once upon a dream ❦ peter parker au

summary: sleeping beauty au but peter is aurora and reader is prince phillip 

word count: 8.8k so hold onto ur hats 

author’s note: if u would like to give feedback that would be REALLY NICE ok akkfasjlakfjljdf thank you i love you

   It starts once upon a dream, with a boy who had rose petals for a mouth and honey for eyes, a boy born of the King and Queen, the kindest and gentlest soul to ever grace the grounds of the kingdom, as was apparent from the moment he blessed the lives of those around him. Good-natured and sweet, even as an infant, he smiled and laughed rather than cried, and he was the King and Queen's greatest joy. His name was Peter, for it meant stone, and they dreamt of their precious boy who filled their lives with the brightest of sunshine one day growing strong enough to rule over them with his benevolent hand. A celebration was proclaimed to pay homage to the newborn prince, and the entirety of the kingdom was beckoned forth to the castle to take part in the grandest of holidays.

   From the neighboring kingdom came the King and Queen’s dearest friend, another King who brought with him you, his darling daughter only a few months old, his gift to his lifelong allies, as they had long and fondly dreamt to unite their two kingdoms through the marriage of a son and a daughter. Your sleepy, infant eyes hardly glanced at the other baby being presented to you, the boy you’d one day adore, the boy whose presence was to incur the wrath of the most vicious fairy in the land.

   Though, of course, not all of the fae were vicious. In fluttered three kindly fairies, the announcer proclaiming, “The most honored and exalted excellencies, the three good fairies. Mistress Flora, Mistress Fauna, and Mistress Merryweather.”  

   They appeared at his cradle, cooing at him profusely as the guests of the celebration, delighted, waited for them to bestow their gifts upon the child. Each was allowed only one.

   The first smiled down upon him and decreed that her gift shall be the gift of beauty of the rarest kind, the warmth of springtime in his every step and loveliness beyond compare.

   The second smiled down upon him and decreed that her gift shall be the gift of song, his precious life filled with joyful melody, his heart filled with the croon of a nightingale.

   The third smiled down upon him, but before her gift could be given, all the light in the room winked out of existence, the candles blown out by the abrupt gusts of wind rattling the chandeliers, the doors to the room thrown abruptly open. The gathering of villagers and nobility alike parted for her, for Maleficent.

   Any semblance of good residing in Maleficent had left her long ago, and the flair with which she had entered the room, to join the party she hadn’t been given an invitation to, foretold that the fairy was not here to join in on the revelry of the day. The smirk adorning her red lips, as her patronizing gaze fell on the King and Queen, was indicative enough of her intentions. “Well, well,” her tone is velvet, falsely sweet, and she ascends the stairs to where baby Peter lies in his bassinet. “What a glittering assemblage, King Richard… royalty, nobility, and, how quaint, even the rabble.” Her leer turned on the trio of fairies surrounding the child’s cradle before it went back to the King, and she let out a mocking sigh. “I must say, I really felt quite distressed of not receiving an invitation.” She paused to allow room for an apology.

King Richard, making a show at being brave, said, “You’re not welcome here.”

Maleficent, in turn, made a show at being hurt, but it does not last. She lifted her head and laughed at him. “Oh, dear. What an awkward situation.” She turned, seemingly to make her leave.

The Queen, however, asked quickly, for reassurance, “You’re not offended?”

The fairy’s strange eyes fixed upon the Queen, a shudder creeping up her back. “Why, no, your majesty. And to show I bear no ill will, I, too, shall bestow a gift upon the child.” She ignored the protests of the King and swept the meddlesome fairies aside with one wave of her hand. She glared down at the tiny prince, who stared back up at her with innocent, doe-like eyes. Her hand hovered over him and her sinister voice, the falsetto of sweetness gone, echoed through the throne room. “Listen well, all of you. The prince shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, beloved by all who meet him, but,” she leaned back from the child, raising her arms, “before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he shall prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die.”

The Queen rushed forward for her child as her husband called for Maleficent to be seized, but the only thing left of her when the guards lunged forward was her maniacal laughter ringing in their ears; just a flash of green lightning and black smoke and she was gone.

The curse itself could not be undone, for Maleficent’s magic was so mighty, all other magic-wielders lacked the power to reverse it. The third fairy, Merryweather, having been unable to present Peter with her gift before, smiled down at him, and gently decreed that if he should prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, he would descend not into death but a deep slumber, and there he would remain until true love’s kiss is bestowed upon him to break the fateful spell.

   Such was a temporary alleviation to the nerves unsettled by Maleficent’s curse; it was not a good enough antidote to the fears of King Richard, who then and there commanded every spinning wheel in the kingdom to be burnt forthwith, and so it was done. However, the safety of the kingdom’s most precious possession remained uncertain, and it was henceforth decided that, for the young prince’s safety, he was to be sent off to live with the three kind fairies and that night, the King and Queen watched, hearts heavy, their only son be carried away from them.

   For sixteen years, the location of the prince remained a mystery to all, but there he lived deep in the woods with the three fairies who had raised him as their own, disguised as three mortal women with hair of red, brown, and gold. They bustled around the tiny cottage, a flurry with preparations for his birthday party, mumbling amongst each other about how to get the boy out of the house.

   Peter, lacking in his former title of prince, appeared down the stairs of the cottage, and it is evident that the years were kind. Beauty of the rarest kind indeed; something sunshine-filled about each move he made, his soft smile and sparkling, joyous eyes the sweetest gift, given to him to bless the rest of the world. He tilted his head curiously at the trio. “What are you three up to?” He asked, their suspicious stances poised over the kitchen table piquing his interest.

   They stumble over an answer in unison before the golden-haired woman stated, “We want you to go out and pick some berries!” in a hurried, panicked tone.

    His brow furrowed, Peter replied, “But I picked berries yesterday.”

    The red-haired one sternly said, “We need more.”

    The brunette places a hand on his shoulder, pushing him out of the house, “Lots more!” She chimed. “Don’t hurry back, but don’t go far, and don’t speak to strangers!” And with rushed goodbyes, they ushered him out of the little house. He didn’t question their mischievous behavior, it was hardly in his nature to question the women who had raised him. They watch him retreat good-naturedly, recalling the day they brought him there, a tiny thing swaddled in a blanket sleeping soundly as if not a thing in the world could possibly harm him, and it was a beautiful thing to behold: the innocence of an infant. Soon, he’d be theirs no longer, once the curse came to pass and he could return to the castle that would one day be his. 

    Peter hummed a tune as he journeyed through the forest, and it’s almost as if the creatures hum it right back alongside him. Birds, rabbits, chipmunks, they follow his quiet, honeyed voice as it picks up, no longer a hum but a song, though he keeps it low as to remain as inconspicuous as possible. His guardians had always emphasized the importance of a discreet existence, one where he kept to himself, ran his errands for them if need be, then returned quickly without much talking to anyone. He never really minded. It was all he’d ever known, so what was there to mind?

     Elsewhere, you lifted your head, surveying the woods. The pretty voice seemed to ride in on the warm spring breeze, drifting through the canopy of trees overhead. “Come,” you pat your horse lightly, “we’ve been needing an adventure.” You start toward the melody, now a saddened sort of tune.

    The animals watch Peter as he sings and picks the berries. When he speaks, more to himself than them, they answer regardless, in their way. “They treat me like a child,” he grumbled, pushing a curl off his forehead as the owl answered who? He sighed, placing a few more berries into the basket. “Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. They never want me to meet anyone, and I’m always alone.” He paused, then smiled, for all was not lost. There was one thing he held on to, night after night, dream after dream. “I have met someone, though, sort of.” He amended the statement. It was not a formal meeting, but all in his head. Another chorus of who? comes in from the owl, prompting him to say more. “A princess. A beautiful, darling one, kind and intelligent and caring toward everyone, yes, even you,” Peter taps a finger on the nose of an inquisitive rabbit. “It was brilliant, we would talk for hours upon hours, and before we say goodbye, I take her into my arms, and then, of course, I wake.” He shook his head. “Yes, only in my dreams. However, they say if you dream a thing more than once, it’s sure to come true, and I see her each night, so I can only have hope that she’ll reveal herself to me one day when it is time.”

     You, hidden behind a tree out of his sight, glow with adoration at his pronouncement. It was quite a sweet declaration, paired with his charming voice, a voice you’re sure you’ve heard a thousand times in your dreams, a lullaby that helps you drift back off when you’ve risen only briefly, you’re sure of it. You long to step out from the shadows and greet him; his apparent shyness, indicated by those eyes he casts around wearily and the softened, almost inaudible pitch of singing, while endearing as anything, made you hesitate from such actions. You decide to leave him be, but before you can climb soundlessly back onto your horse, you step on a twig, the resounding snap of the branch echoing unmistakably. You winced. 

     Peter nearly dropped his basket and the woodland animals scurried off in fear. He’s never had to deal with people before, let alone people sneaking up on him in the woods, so his fear is heightened extraordinarily at that very moment. Nevertheless, he lingered, waiting for the creator of the noise to reveal itself. Perhaps it was simply another animal being a troublesome little thing, as some were prone to be. However, when what steps out from behind the throng of trees is a girl, pretty and smiling nervously and taking a tentative step forward, he realizes he’s even more unprepared than he had initially thought. You’re awfully familiar to him. He feels it like a punch to the throat, leaves him breathless and utterly incoherent. He knows you without knowing you, impossibly so.

    “My apologies,” your face feels warm in a bashful sort of way, and you’re not accustomed to feeling bashful. You pride yourself on the confidence you possess (you’ve hardly had much reason to doubt yourself, an advantage of being royalty), but it all seems for naught in the presence of this boy, the glowing, springtime-eyed boy gazing at you, stunned. “I, um, I didn’t mean to frighten you…” Your hands find your dress and clutch at it tightly to have something to focus on rather than the boy with his mouth agape.

     He shut it abruptly as if finally noticing his impropriety. “Oh, oh, no, it- it wasn’t- you didn’t- you’re just…” he took a deep breath to settle his nerves, acutely aware of his cheeks aflame and shaky hands. “A stranger.”

    “I gathered as much,” you replied, remaining at a distance as to refrain from frightening him further. “I- I- well, I wanted to tell you that, that your voice is very pretty. I am sorry if I startled you, I’ll be on my way-”

    “You heard me?” He squeaked out, the pink of his cheeks darkening like mad. “Singing and talking? You heard me?”

     “Indeed,” you school your features into an ambiguous expression, afraid the pleased smile you bite furiously back might be misinterpreted. “You sounded quite nice. I thought maybe it was the fae playing tricks on me, they do that often, but no, just you. A welcome surprise.” The twinkle in your eye makes Peter’s heart flutter rapidly against his ribs. “I do think I’ve heard your voice before.”

    “Have you? Where?”

    “Why you said it yourself, did you not? Once upon a dream,” you murmured to yourself before glancing back at him, a prominent grin adorning your face. “That’s where we met, of course. That’s where I’ve heard you. Assuming it is me you’ve been meeting in that head of yours.”

   “It is, indeed,” he echoed your previous words. “You remember my voice, but I remember you. You are not easily forgotten.”

    “Oh, please,” you waved a hand at him. “Your voice is far lovelier than my face could ever manage to be.”

    “I must disagree with you there, my dreams did you an injustice compared to the loveliness I see now.” He’s unsure of where this self-assurance has risen from and he does not waste time on thinking too much into it. He must say it whilst he still can, lest you vanish before his very eyes as you do each night as he awakens from his slumber.

    “You flatter me, truly,” you smoothed out your dress, stained from traipsing through the forest all day. “Though I must know your name, after meeting you in my dreams and such, it would only be right.”

    He hesitated. “I- I’m not supposed to give it out, ‘m very sorry, I would if I could, but you must stay at least a while longer until I’ve finished collecting these,” he held up the basket clutched in his hand.

    “Very well, then I won’t tell you mine, either.” You take your horse by the leash loosely tied around its neck and follow the boy into the forest.

     His walk gave a vague, pleasant impression of poetry. Loping grace, calculated strides, like a doe in its natural habitat. It wasn’t just his walk that was poetry, it was entirely him. Every blush of his cheek, each blink of his eyes, the radiating (if not teasing) smile he sent your way when you cursed underneath your breath about the bugs nipping at your ankles exposed by your dress. He could tell, easily, that you were unaccustomed to the throes of the deep woods, despite your most valiant efforts to hide it save for the string of profanities you uttered every time you felt another bug bite into you.

     “If I had to guess, I would say you were a princess,” Peter cracked another grin as you slapped a mosquito away from your arm, its body leaving a bloody splotch there on your skin in its death.

    “What gave you that impression?” You flipped your hair away from your eyes.

      A lot of things, he supposed. Perhaps he could simply say it was your unfamiliarity with your current surroundings, as if you’d never been in the presence of a tree that wasn’t perfectly cut and shaped courtesy of some royal gardener or whatever they called it. That wasn’t, of course, the only reasoning behind his assumption. It was the way you carried yourself. The regality of it. An air of confidence you gave off, the formality with which you spoke. You, simply put, looked like a princess, an ethereal being. His first thought upon meeting you was that you mustn't be real. No, impossible. You were a fairy creature; you should have wings like a butterfly’s sprouting from your shoulder blades, flowers wreathed among the strands of your hair, your voice like a wind chime and your laugh like a bell. You were spun from his fantasy-filled sleep, all terribly pretty with those dreamy eyes. He knew you, as you said you knew him, but he had been woefully unprepared to encounter you in the real world. Oh, he could hardly bear it. Just shyly observing you, as you did him, made him flush from his neck to his ears, across his lightly freckled cheeks and nose until he had to refrain from looking at anything other than the ground to prevent further embarrassment.

      It was perfectly reasonable for him to say that you, simply put, looked like a princess, but instead he just said, “The way you have no idea how to deal with being outside in nature.”

     “I appreciate nature a great deal, I’ll have you know, however, I am, unfortunately, not wearing proper hiking attire, nor was I expecting such an adventure today with a boy so accustomed to these woods in a way I neglect to be.” You huffed in faux-annoyance. He was clearly jesting. You were in no position to argue too vehemently, lest you blow your cover. “I can assure you, I’m no princess. I just tend to stick to my little garden in the back of my home rather than the dark woods.”

     “Your ornate dress would also give the impression of royalty, but if you insist you’re of humble birth I am inclined to believe you, as per our agreement to secrecy.” He wished he was able to tell you his name… well, he could, if he desperately desired it so… but, no, he respected his guardians far too much to disobey them to such an extent, and there was no harm in spending these hours with you as long as he didn’t reveal his name. No harm whatsoever. Though he did not always understand their rules, he abided by them out of his goodness and his inherent loyalty.

    “Who’s to say I am not a thief and this dress is stolen?”

     “You don’t strike me as a thief,” Peter continued pulling off the berries from bushes he knew were safe for eating.

     “And why is that?”

    He paused. Does he dare? “Too pretty.” He did dare. 

     You fought off the look of surprise threatening to break open your face. Composure was your finest, most practiced quality. “Too pretty to be a thief? Thieves aren’t allowed to be pretty, then?”

      “They can,” he decided, then said, “Your prettiness just looks like it stems from goodness. That’s all.”

     “Thieves can steal for good reasons.” You avert your eyes from him, examining a tree with brilliantly bright flowers hanging low from its branches. Easier than looking at him was looking at flowers, but what was the difference, really? Both were beautiful.

    “You just don’t look the type.” He said after a while. He came to where he had wanted to take you since the minute you’d chosen to keep him company. “Close your eyes for a second.” 

      You turned back toward him once you had secured your horse to the tree, arms folded across your chest. “Presumptuous of you.” He shakes his head at you, the florid hue of his complexion quickly becoming a permanent fixture of his face. “Fine, as you wish.” You held your hands together as you shut your eyes. He shuffled closer toward you, grass ruffling underneath his light footstep.

     “Open them.”

      You did, and clasped in his grip was a dainty rose, held out for you. You feel a swarm start inside your stomach, butterflies fighting to be free of their cage. They did not appreciate the proximity between you and Peter, they begged closer closer closer, they pleaded kiss him kiss him kiss him, they cried indignantly when you did not. Your breath seemed nonexistent when standing so close to him, so close each fleck in his brown eyes stood out against the gold and pink of the blooming sunset. Composure no longer existed. Before you could say a word to him (though you were unsure how you were going to do so without sounding like a complete and utter fool), he said, “I have more for you, but… well, may I?” You nodded, and he slipped it through your hair, careful to mind the thorns. “There, now you look like you belong among the briar patch, a wild rose.”

      “You’re a sweetheart,” you said while his fingers were still twined in your hair, lingering on the soft curve of your cheek. He couldn’t match your gaze for long, the intensity made his skin warm all over, if it were even possible to blush that hard, and he was afraid he’d do the impulsive thing in the rush of heat and kiss you full on the mouth. Oh, it did cross his mind, but he was not an impulsive boy, and he pulled back the littlest amount to restrain himself. He tried to feel the wind whip across his face, to cool him down. Passion, apparently, was going to make an idiot of him, and he’d only just met you. He couldn’t allow himself to be an idiot in front of you, yet. “Thank you, truly. I don’t get out much, or talk to people much, and this has been a lovely day.”

      “Neither do I,” he admitted. “Hardly at all.”

     “When might I see you again?” Earnest in your question, you reached for his hand. You liked his hands, nervous and all over yours, a perfect fit. “Or, better yet, when might I learn your name?”

     Maybe making such hasty promises was the wrong move, but regardless he said, “Tomorrow, at the cottage by the glen,” and walked you back toward whence you came, the rose in your hair and a quickly made bouquet in your hands. He watched you mount your horse, basking in the feel of your lips delicate on his cheek from when you had bid him goodbye. You departed from him in the grip of some bright, beautiful, bold dream, lighter than life or air.

     Peter headed back to his home, humming happily to himself. A raven is perched atop the tiny cottage’s roof, but Peter paid it no mind. He was held aloft in the clouds, in the radiance of the sunset, in the hands of another. When he entered the cottage to see the slightly lopsided cake that Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather had made for him, his happy mood increased tenfold. Their cries of happy birthday helped a smile light up his face. “Oh, thank you! You’ve made today even better than it already was!” His sincerity is touching, but the three women pause.

    “What else happened today?” Fauna asked, taking the basket out of his hand and noticing a stray rose left inside.

   “I met someone,” he informed them, and he’s glowing as he says it, glimmering with happiness and hope and dreams. “A beautiful someone. The most beautiful someone the world has ever seen.”

   They cast quick looks among one another. This just wouldn’t do. “You’ve met some stranger!” Flora exclaimed. “After all we’ve taught you?”

   “She’s not a stranger, though, I’ve met her before, once upon a dream,” he laughed at his loophole to their rule, and he began humming dreamily again as he helped himself to some of the cake on the table.

   “He’s in love!” Fauna felt his forehead for the unmistakable flush of first love, and there she found it.

   “Oh no!” Merryweather sat down in a chair, fanning herself dramatically.

   “This is terrible!” Flora took the cake out of his hands and started eating the rest herself.

   Startled, Peter wiped the frosting off his lips and stared around at the trio of women, pale and acting more melodramatic than ever. “What is the problem? I would say I’m old enough for love. I am sixteen now, after all.”

    Flora sighed. “It isn’t that, dear.” She glanced at her sisters for help.

    “You’re already betrothed.” Fauna explained, wringing her hands. Perhaps they should have told him sooner, rather than later. It was just that, well, if the curse were to come true it would be today, on his sixteenth birthday, and it only felt right to wait until today, up until this very moment, of course, watching his previous elation fade into dejection and hurt. “To Princess Y/N, of the neighboring kingdom. She’s lovely, as well-”

   “But that’s impossible because for me to marry a princess I would have to be a-a-a-”

   “A prince, dear, yes,” Merryweather reached over to him to pet his hair gently. He backed up toward the kitchen window before she could touch him.

     “You’re Prince Peter, son of King Richard and Queen Mary, who we are to take you back to tonight.” Flora tried to place a motherly hand over his, and again he jerked back from touch. He felt completely and utterly betrayed. Outside, a raven caws at the sky and flies off, an omen or a metaphor.

    “I-I-I can’t go there, she’s coming here tomorrow, and I promised to meet her!” It’s the only thing his mind can focus on, out of the billions of thoughts swarming around up there right now. Her. You. The impossibility of having to marry anyone other than you. It was incomprehensible.

    “I’m sorry, dearest, but you can never see that girl again.” 

     Peter said nothing. He stormed out of the room, the rose you’d placed in his basket when he wasn’t looking to make him think of you later in the evening between his fingers. Tears well up in his eyes, burning against his shut lids. He settled himself down on his bed once the door was safely closed and bolted, placing the rose on his pillow and letting the tears spill out. The three fairies huddle around his door, listening to his muffled, shallow breaths. They thought he’d be so happy with the news.

    Far away, in your own kingdom, you were just entering the castle, singing softly to yourself and spinning throughout the halls, your heart rosy with joy. You were hoping to slip quietly into your room and send one of the maids for a vase to put your new bouquet into. Then, you wanted to sleep immediately after a bath, to fast forward time in your own way and get to tomorrow quicker. You could hardly wait.

     You were, however, stopped in the hallway by your father. He had a bemused expression on his face. He’d been watching your twirls of delight for a few moments now and, as endearing as it was, had business to attend to with you. “What has you in such a mood, my girl?” 

    “Oh, father! I had the most lovely day! Enchanting, really, so splendid I can hardly believe it was real!” You grabbed his hands excitedly, bouncing on your toes.

   “What happened? Not talking to strangers, I hope?”

   “I met someone, a most handsome someone, father, he was kind and funny and romantic, gave me this rose and a dozen other flowers to keep with me until I see him again tomorrow! You can meet him, too, of course, that’s a given!” You added the last part upon seeing the surprised knit of his brow. “I’ve met him before, once upon a dream, so he’s not a stranger, I’m sure you’ll like him as I do. You mustn't look so worried!” You patted his shoulder.

     “It’s not that I’m worried my dear, it’s- well, I’m sorry, child, I should’ve told you sooner…” he trailed off, wiping the sweat off his brow. You take a step back, a feeling of dread creeping up your neck. You wanted to clap your hands over your ears to avoid hearing the next words to come out of his mouth. You almost did. “You’re betrothed. To the lost prince Peter. We’re to meet him and his father King Richard there tonight, at their castle, when the prince comes home. You’ll be married soon enough, and I already have a castle ready for the two of you. Nothing elaborate, forty bedrooms and a dining hall, room for the children, naturally-”

    “That is absurd!” You cried, eyes alight. “Married? Children? To a stranger? This is- this is absurd, absurd and impossible and ludicrous and all other synonyms for the damn word! Prince Peter? He doesn’t even exist to me! I don’t even know what he looks like!”

     “He was blessed by the fairies to be quite handsome, and kind, too, he’ll make a suitable match for you, Y/N-”

    “Enough of this! I’m to meet the other boy tomorrow, not marry some random prince tonight! I don’t want it, I renounce my title, I reject the crown, I will not go with you anywhere tonight or tomorrow or any day after!” You stomped your foot, childish as it may be, and ran off in the other direction to the stairs, to the safety of your bedroom, as your father yelled after you that you would do as you were told. “You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming there!”

      “I command you to come to your senses! No daughter of mine will marry a peasant boy!” And he would drag you kicking and screaming if he had to, mark his words. If he could get to you before you escaped, that is.

    Spoiler: he doesn’t. That, however, comes later.

    In the woods, the fairies and Peter walked cautiously down the path leading to the castle, the greatness of it looming overhead. Begrudgingly, Peter had gone with them. He would explain, he had decided, to his parents that it would be impossible for him to marry just anyone, and he would tell them about the girl he’d met, and implore them to meet her instead of marrying him off so soon. It had to work, or at least sway them in his favor.

    Unnoticed, they reach the castle and head into an unoccupied room with a fire burning in the fireplace, ushering him inside and locking the door. Fauna pulled the drapes closed, shutting out the light from the sunset completely. He sat down, and Flora nestled a crown atop his curls, his final gift from them as a symbol of his regained royalty. Peter then let out a distinct sniffle and hastened to wipe his eyes. Everything in his life had been upheaved in a mere moment and it frightened him, made him anxious and frustrated, made him want to run, hide, never look back. He was eager to meet his parents—well, more curious than eager— but a royal life was too much of a shock, coupled with a predetermined marriage plan and he was about ready to collapse. Happy birthday to me, he thought glumly.

    They all flutter around him as he made his misery apparent, awkward pats on the back were distributed, and they soon bowed out of the room to alone him a few minutes to himself. He held his head in his hands, breathing deeply to calm himself.

     The fire goes out suddenly when he lifts his head. He’s in pitch-black darkness, save for a small sphere of green light winking at him from the other corner of the room. His eyes go glassy, unfocused, as he stares at it, entranced. There’s no looking away from the little ball of light, and Peter resolved that he needed to be closer to it, needed to touch it, so he got up from his seat and started toward it. It floated beyond the fireplace, where a wall suddenly opened up. He continued walking. He had to. His only thought was the mysterious ball of light, there was no other option but to follow it.

     Outside, the fairies discuss their boy’s sadness, worried for him. “Do you think his plan to tell the king will work?”

    “I do hope so,” Merryweather leaned against the door. “I don’t see why he must marry any old princess, anyway.”

      “That’s not for us to decide, dear,” Fauna answered, though if it were she certainly would give him the choice of his happiness. It gave her, and all the fairies, the greatest satisfaction to see the boy’s happiness. He was such a sweet boy, he deserved endless happiness and smiles and love. They hadn’t meant to make him this unhappy. “We shall see what the king makes of it- what was that?” They halted their discussion, ears pressed against the wooden door, and all collectively gasped. There was a distinctive giggle ringing in the room. “Maleficent!” They chorused, barging into the room, cursing their decision to leave him alone. They watched him vanish behind the reappearing wall, unable to hear their cries for him. They try to push the wall back open, and when that didn’t work, they had one thing left to use: their magic. But even as they found the passageway, there were multiple ways going off the fireplace, and they couldn’t find the right way at once.

     He continued slowly up a staircase, following the light. He followed it into another dark room in the tower, where it floats into a corner and transforms into a spinning wheel. He reached toward it, a hand outstretched. There’s the voice of the fairies far away behind him, telling him not to touch anything, and another soft voice, invisible, crooning in his ear when he holds back, “Touch the spindle, Peter.” A command if he ever heard one, and Peter was nothing if not eager to please.

    The rays of the sun are a scarlet red as he pricked his finger sharply, like droplets of his blood had escaped and found their way into the sky.

     The fairies entered the doorway a minute too late, horror in their gaping mouths and wide eyes as Maleficent cackled. “Fools, the lot of you, for thinking you could defeat me, me!” Another wicked laugh curls from her lips. “Here’s your precious prince!” She kicked Peter’s crumpled body lightly. When she disappears, she leaves nothing behind but that cruel laugh and her cruel curse.

    Peter was face down on the floor, curled in on himself, the blood spooling from his finger making a tiny puddle on the wooden floor. The fairies gathered around his motionless body, crying, blaming themselves.

    The entire kingdom has already filed into the castle to celebrate their beloved prince’s triumphant return to his royal roots. The sun had set, and he was supposed to be entering now, cheered for by all, embraced by his parents. The fanfare outside is indicative enough of the momentum of the celebration, but if that weren’t enough, fireworks were beginning to sound off.

     Fauna began to wail, “Poor King Richard and Queen Mary, they’ll be devastated when they find out!”

    “Heartbroken,” Merryweather agreed, blotting her eyes.

      Resolutely, Flora said, “They’re not going to.” Her sisters looked to her curiously. “Everyone in the kingdom is here, at the castle, so we’ll put everyone to sleep until Peter awakens. No one gets hurt.” First, they conjured a bed to situate him on, and then, in his hands, place the single red rose you had left him. “Now, let’s get to work.”

     They flew around the castle, putting everyone to sleep swiftly and efficiently. Flora settles down to put the spell on the other king, who is lying next to King Richard, already asleep. While drifting off to sleep, this king mumbled, thinking he is still speaking to King Richard, “I’m sorry, but my daughter has run off, seems she’s fallen in love with a peasant boy…” his eyes fluttered briefly shut but Flora shook him back awake, alarmed by his statement.

    “Peasant boy? Who is he? Where did she meet him?”

    “Just some peasant boy she’s met.”

    “Yes, but where?” She pressed, shaking his shoulder again.

    “She said once upon a dream,” he slumped over, finally asleep.

     Flora’s eyes widened drastically as she scrambled up from the floor, calling for her sisters. Oh, this was glorious. Peter would have no reason to be sad once he awakened, for his betrothed was already the object of his affections. They just had to find her.

      You hadn’t given your father a chance to drag you out of your castle kicking and screaming; you had already left. You had propped open a window when the maid had gone to draw your bath, found your footing on a sturdy vine, and cascaded to the castle grounds with only minor cuts, scrapes, and assaults to your dress. You would’ve worn more suitable clothing, but you had none, therefore you made do and accepted the dress’ fate.

     You ran toward the stables just as the maid was discovering your absence, readied your horse with a gentle coaxing of a shiny apple, and escaped faster than your father could call the guards to find you. You felt like you were flying, freedom settling on your shoulders as you ride your way to the cottage in the glen. You had to see him and tell him of the atrocity your father was planning to force you into.

      You dismounted from the horse as soon as you see it, the only cottage for miles. You tie the horse to the tree, giving her another apple and a pat on the head. You knocked on the flower-covered door, smiling to yourself.

     “Come in!” Called a voice from within. You entered and immediately got the feeling that something was off. It was too dark in the cottage, unnaturally black, and you couldn’t even attempt to turn back and hurry away because you were seized at the arms by two strange yet strong creatures.

    “Get off me!” You struggled against them to no avail. You were soon tied up, though you had spat on them and kicked them enough to wound their pride at least. “Do you know who I am? Release me this instant!”

      A candle lights up your face, illuminating your angry eyes and snarl. A ferocious look for a princess, Maleficent noted. Deeply satisfied with her catch of the day, she said to you, “Look at this,” she runs a hand over her raven’s head, “I set my trap for a peasant girl and I catch a princess. How darling.” You sneered at her, craning away from her icy gaze. “Well, away with him, my pets, but do be gentle. I have such plans for our royal guest.”

     The fairies arrived again a beat too late, finding their door propped wide open. When they enter the cottage, they find your red rose on the floor, strands of hair entwined from where it’d been yanked out.

    “She’s taken the princess!” Merryweather picked the rose up from the floor.

    “To the forbidden mountain,” Flora gritted her teeth. It was a horrid place, the stuff of nightmares and evil. Darkness bloomed there, ceaseless. “We must.”

    “We can’t!” Fauna moaned. “It is forbidden for a reason!”

    “We can and we must! For Peter and for Princess Y/N, so that they may know each other truly! And for the whole kingdom, so that they may know peace!”

     Merryweather and Fauna can hardly argue with a sentiment such as that. They reluctantly journey forth with their sister to the forbidden mountain, a twisted castle shrouded in black and green smoke, its towers like jagged spikes.

      Shrunk down to microscopic size, the fairies approach the castle. The guards do not detect their presence and they passed the gates unseen. They shimmied through a window to a room where Maleficent and her little pets are feasting and dancing around a fire. “What a pity Princess Y/N can’t be here to enjoy our celebration! Come, we must go to the dungeon and cheer her up,” she said to her pet raven, perched on her shoulder as always. She departed the feast, her raven and the fairies following her. 

      They held in their gasps when they saw you, chained to the wall with a cut across your cheek and your head down so you didn’t have to look Maleficent in the face.

      Maleficent cooed to you, “Oh, come now, Princess, why so melancholy? A wondrous future lies ahead of you, the destined heroine of a charming fairy tale come true.” She made images dance before your eyes to depict a story. “Behold, King Richard’s castle, and in yonder topmost tower, dreaming of his true love, your betrothed, Prince Peter. Behold the gracious whim of fate, ‘tis the same peasant boy who won the heart of you, most beautiful Princess Y/N, only hours ago. He is indeed a sight to look upon. Beauty of the rarest kind, yes? In ageless sleep, you’ll find. The years roll by, but a hundred years to a steadfast heart as his are but a day. And now, the gates of the dungeon part, and the princess is free to go on her way. Off she rides on her noble steed…” Maleficent’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she continued on, smug and sly. “A valiant, radiant, beautiful figure. Regal.” The image of you she showed was that of a shaking old woman, hunched over and sad. “Off to wake her love with true love’s kiss,” she mocked the phrase with a high-pitched tone, “to prove that true love conquers all.” You growled at her, struggling against your chains, trying to rip them off the wall and get your hands around her throat. The cruelty of it all. To make you a prisoner here while your prince was alone and ageless, to release you once you were too feeble to give him any sort of life together or even entertain the thought. The most brutal punishment of all, to give you to him, at last a savior, except like that. And she loved every second of it, basking in her triumph and laughing back up to her feast. “A most gratifying day,” she had smiled as she locked the dungeon door. 

      After she is gone, the fairies appear, approaching you. “No time to explain,” Flora hushed you, opening your chains with her magic.

     “Who are you?” You asked, rubbing at your bruised wrists and standing up on weak legs.

     “Peter’s guardians, fairies, and we have heard so much about you, Princess Y/N,” Flora said. Merryweather produced the rose from her pocket and placed it back in your hair. “You must save him, you’re the only one who can!”

      “I’ll do whatever it takes to save him, and to stop Maleficent,” you added, scraping dried blood off your cheek from where she had cut you. “Tell me what I must do, what I must face, and I will face it gladly.”

     The set of your jaw and the determined stance of your shoulders ease the fairies’ worries. They’d thought that perhaps you’d be too scared to fight. Flora conjured two weapons with her magic, presenting them to you. “The road to true love may be buried still with more dangers, which you alone will have to face. Arm thyself with this enchanted shield of virtue and this mighty sword of truth, for these weapons of righteousness will triumph over evil.” You suit up, ruined dress and all. The fairy halted from opening the door. “Do you, ahem, know how to use these weapons, Princess?” 

      You unsheathed the sword, chin raised. “ I shall learn.”

     The door swung upon, and you and your new companions flood out, the raven shrieking for its mistress. You and the fairies start up the stairs and Maleficent’s servants come streaming down toward you. You narrowed your eyes, raising the sword and beginning to fight. It was a heavy thing, nearly impossible to hold upright without the proper training, but you managed to fight back effectively before they jump right out the window. They began a counterattack of throwing rocks, which Flaura turned to bubbles, and shooting arrows, which Flora turned into flying daisies. If you had more time, you’d marvel at the wonders of her magic.

     Merryweather freed your horse outside, waiting for you. You hopped on, riding off determinedly to the gate. You would not be deterred, even when hot oil came pouring toward you (which Flora turned to a rainbow). Merryweather followed the raven as it tried to wake a slumbering Maleficent, and she turned him into a stone raven outside the dark fairy’s door, but not before he succeeded in waking his mistress. Maleficent screamed, “No!” when she saw her beloved pet turned to stone, then again, a panicked “No!” when she noticed you making your daring escape. She raised a hand, and the drawbridge, too, started to raise.

    “Watch out, Y/N!” Flora called, and you tightened the reins on your horse, ground your jaw, and launched over the gap just barely. “Hurry, hurry!” She called again. Your grip is so tight you can feel your fingernails against your palms. It feels like flying again, you’re going so fast through the dark forest you have no time to think or plan your next move. All that matters is going as fast as you can and getting away from Maleficent. To Peter. Your Peter. To know his name brought you strength.

       Maleficent raised her arms, casting a spell. “A forest of thorns shall be her tomb, born through the skies on a fog of doom, now go with the curse and serve me well, round Richard’s castle cast my spell!” Bolts of lightning strike the darkening castle, causing a wild growth of thick and thorny bushes, seemingly impenetrable. Maleficent breathed loudly through her nose. She had foiled your daring rescue. “Finally, for the first time in sixteen years, I shall sleep well.”

      Or so she thought. You hesitated only for a moment. Then, hauling the heavy sword back up, you fought your way through the thorns, because they reminded you of the rose in your hair, and the rose reminded you of Peter. This was for him. You continued cutting your way through until you were free on the other side.

     Maleficent gaped. “No! It cannot be!” Enough was enough. She appeared in front of you suddenly, and you stepped back out of habit. “Now, you shall deal with me, dear princess, and all the powers of hell!”

       A tad dramatic, you thought, or maybe not, you thought after she transformed herself into a monstrous dragon in front of you. Your breath caught in your throat, and not in the happy, love-filled way from before. No, this was much different. Still, you squared your shoulders, making a courageous step toward her despite there being absolutely no chance of your victory. She spewed fire, and your fight with her was short-lived. You raised your shield against her, but you knew that would only last so long. She was too much. She was blazing fire and snapping jaws. You retreated, backed up against a wall, shakingly holding the sword high. If you were to die, you would go down fighting, with that stupidly heavy sword in your first and a scowl on your face. That’s how you would want to be remembered. Cowering in fear did not exist to you. Composure was your strong suit.

      “Up here!” Flora said from above you, and you climbed up to where she was, only to find yourself trapped on a cliff. Fire blazes all around you and one meticulously aimed ball of it destroys your shield into a pile of ash.

     Maleficent’s laugh at your loss ignited a rage in you, and you raise the sword again, staring her in her strange eyes, as the fairies chant, “Now sword of truth fly swift and sure, that evil die and good endure!” It feels lighter in your hands somehow, and when you throw it in a spiraling arc at the dragon, you know your aim was true. It struck her right in the heart, and she goes down off the cliff in an eruption of flames. You peered over the side of the cliff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face, dusted with char. She was reduced to a pile of nothing, the sword sticking out of the ground.

   The horse and the fairies came to your side, and you made your way to the castle. You let them lead you to Peter, nearly tripping over yourself to scramble up those stairs in an effort to get to him faster.

    He lay there on the bed, serene-looking in his sleep. Even when you look away, you’re still looking. His face had been burned into your memory; that beautiful, sweet face. And here he was. Your Prince Peter. The boy from your dreams, the boy of your dreams. The rose clutched in his hand and tied in your hair, binding the two of you together. You know what is meant to happen next, yet you hesitate.

    “What is wrong, Princess?” Flora asked, fluttering around you with her sisters. “Is it your attire? You are looking a little worse for wear, but we can fix that up.” They wave their wands and clear the ash from your face, fix your knotted hair, patch your dress good as new. “A new color dress for the occasion, I think, as well.” She makes it pink.

   Merryweather wrinkled her nose in disgust.  “Blue.” She turned your dress blue.

    “Pink!” Flora commanded, making it pink again. Merryweather raised her wand again, but you wave your hands wildly about to capture their attention.

    “Can’t you just make it both?” You said, exasperated. Flora shrugged, doing as you asked. “Anyway, that’s not what I was going to say. Must I really, um, kiss him?” You stared down at the boy in front of you, placing a hand on his.

    “Why? Is that a problem?” They cocked their heads in confusion.

    “Well, it just feels a bit intrusive, he’s not awake to say it’s okay for me to kiss him, and I don’t want to make assumptions on his behalf but I know it’s the only way to wake him up so I’m not really sure what-” The fairies all stare at you blankly, so you halt the confused monologue.

     Swallowing your nerves, you lean down and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It was what felt right in the moment, and so you did it, and the world tilted on its axis. His brown eyes opened slowly, catch yours, and he beamed.

     “It’s you,” he said as he sat up, cupping your cheek. “You’re…”

    “A princess, it would seem, betrothed to a Prince Peter. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you? I’ve been waiting to meet him, though I hear he gets himself into all sorts of trouble. I’ll have to deem him worthy of my time.” He crinkled his face up in that boyish, shy manner of his, just the most darling thing you’ve ever seen. “I’m very glad it’s you.”

    “As am I,” he said sweetly, face leaning up toward yours.

    “I was thinking I might kiss you now if that’s alright,” you played with the collar of his shirt apprehensively. He nodded a yes, a please kiss me, and so you did, and he tasted of fairytales.

     Inside the throne room, as the people begin to awaken, your father is attempting to explain to Peter’s that his daughter has decided to marry a peasant boy, mumbling something along the lines of it being the fourteenth century and a perfectly acceptable thing, but King Richard is hardly listening. He stood up, eyes bright, as his child and the princess descend the stairs and come into the throne room together, hand in hand, a rose in the button of Peter’s shirt and a rose in your hair.

    You kneeled together in front of the throne, and Peter embraced his mother and father tightly. Your own father stands there stuttering like a loon, and you send him a wink.

    You and Peter danced together, alive with love and joy, the whole night spent in the company of one another’s arms. You resolved to never let him go, and he resolved to keep you in his heart for the rest of his life. Fauna dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and, when asked what was wrong, said softly, “I just love happy endings.”

THE END. 

[staygoldsunshine]

The Kindling

(A sort of short story I wrote for my Fiction Writing class that I’m thinking of expanding over the winter break. Hope you guys like it!)

    Something is growing on my spine.

    Whatever it is, it’s not a part of me. It burns beneath my skin like an infection, along the uneven segments of bone all fused together by the cords of my nerves and my pained, fragmented thoughts. I’m an oven, heated from within. Steam curls off of my exposed skin and drifts up into the light leaking in through the windows--the pink and blue of neon and the silver glow of the moon. Take a deep breath and try to relax, I tell myself. Panic only makes it sink its claws deeper.

    I lift the back of my loose shirt covering the raised skin that appears so monstrous when I rise to look into the mirror. I twist and crane my neck only to freeze at the sight of how much it has grown in just a week, now glowing like embers through my skin. Soon I won’t be able to hide it with just an oversized jacket anymore. Soon people are going to start asking questions. More questions, that is. They already wonder why I’ve disappeared, why I no longer call back, why I stopped going to classes or band practice or anywhere at all. All the stories I’ve ever heard say that the monster should stay locked away in its cave. How do I explain that to them? How do I tell them that this is all my fault?

    The bottle of pain medicine sits empty on my bedside table, and I heave a deep sigh that sends a puff of steam into the air. My teeth grind inside my mouth as the thing on my spine digs its claws into my muscles and pulls like it’s trying to shape me into something else. I pull back. Stretching, massaging, hot showers, more medicine--they call it chronic fatigue. Only I know the truth, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as I can. When the monster does come out of its cave, it has to be careful, after all. One wrong move and the torches and pitchforks come out. One wrong move and it loses its head.

    Night air only strengthens it, but this is the only time that I’ll risk leaving my apartment, under the kind hand of the moon when no one looks too close and everyone is a little bit stranger. The rain-slicked pavement reflects streetlights, traffic lights, and bright windows in little patches of gold and green littering the ground as I flee for cover from the slight drizzle. Down the darkened stairway into the tunnels beneath the city, I can feel the thing on my spine shift with every step. The sickly green subway car speeds along, piloting only three passengers that don’t care to look at one another. Instead I study the still-drying graffiti of green flames consuming a giant, monster rat--someone has quite an imagination.

    Three stops, switch lines, two more stops. Get off. Avoid eye contact. It’s like a slow, winding dance with the underground world of brushing bodies who won’t have time to notice one monster among the mix.

    The street above is bustling, even at night, maybe especially at night. Strings of lights criss-cross above the crowd from building to building like manmade constellations, and I slip beneath these cold stars to find the collection of ratty tents--swirling candy cane colors that are faded from sun and rain--where the people laugh a little louder and smile a little wider. Few things make me feel like I’m not just some sort of doomed host to a wriggling, burning parasite, but this place certainly distracts for a little while.

    No one minds the way that I keep my eyes down or my hood up. They’re too busy ogling the performers. Glistening dancers in their jewels and dripping silks are huddled next to the lion that prowls around politely with a fledgling tamer, age four, riding on his back. The fire breathers scatter cinders across the dying, trampled grass, and they skitter across the toes of my shoes like stardust. Warm little flakes of burning snow.

    One of them offers me a suggestive smile as if my curiosity might possibly entail something more, and my eyes flit away like startled birds. Torches and pitchforks, I remind myself. Quickly stepping through the hustle and the jostle of sharp shoulders and pointing fingers, I find myself at the very last tent in the horseshoe-shaped carnival that lives on this little corner of town. The last tent is silent and solemn as sweet, purple smoke curls upwards from it into the night sky.

    My spine burns like stoked coals, and I breathe smoke like the tent that billows in the slight breeze. An exhale of cinders, a deep inhale of that poisonous night air that this thing finds so refreshing even as I choke. My shaking hands pull back the heavy canvas of the tent’s opening. Coughs make ash feathers flutter in my lungs, and a crackling voice calls out, “Enter, child, and shut that infernal opening.”

    The interior of the tent is even more enchanting than its mysterious exterior. The incense burns on a small table only about a foot tall, and a woman of curves and curls has seated herself across several cushions and pillows decked in embroideries and tassels. She looks like she might’ve been a princess of Arabia at one point many, many years ago. Now she looks more like a grandmother--out of sorts, lost in a circus with a few glass jewels on her fingers. “How have you been since we last spoke?”

    My silence is answer enough. She’s the only one who knows about my… ailment. That’s what she likes to call it, and I don’t mind that over the term that I use. Her name is Jasmine, that’s what she likes to call herself, and she tells stories of deserts and thieves and lost treasures hidden beneath the ever-moving sands. Whether she’s really seen any of these things or not, she’s a talented storyteller, and she never picks up the same thread twice. Each one spools out into a vast unknown of wonder and that sweet-smelling smoke that fills up the tent in place of oxygen. She curls one of those golden threads around her finger now and tugs.

    To escape into these stories, even for just a little while, is a welcome relief.

    “They say the prince still haunts that oasis, waiting to spirit away his true love to their castle in the clouds,” Jasmine finishes finally with a sigh. “Isn’t that romantic, child?”

    “Yes,” I say and not without meaning it, but she can see in the way that my hands twist the hem of my shirt that I did not only come for a story this time. “Jasmine… about my ailment.”

    She stops fanning herself with her painted fan for a moment and glances towards me with milky eyes that reflect the low light like the moon winking in at the fraying seams of the tent. “Haven’t you found a way to get rid of it yet?” Jasmine sighs again. She’s a professional at the art of sighing, practically invented it herself. “How terrible for you, my darling.” One of her silken bony hands reaches forward and takes one of mine. “Are you ready now? For what we’ve spoken of before? I know that you were frightened, but…”

    “I’m still not sure.” I can feel the thing inside of me grow defensive, its spines rising up and pressing against my skin. My nails bite down into the palm of the hand Jasmine isn’t holding until the pain subsides, and I sigh, not with the same theatrics as her but with enough frustration to jostle the creature beneath my skin. “But if there’s someone I could talk to, I think I’m ready for that at least.”

    Jasmine dips her hand into one of the silken folds of her robes and draws out a yellowed business card which she places into the palm of my hand. “Go to this address and tell them that I sent you. They handle all sorts of cases like yours.”

    Felix Fitzwilliam’s Second-Hand Horror Shop, the card reads in curling, faded script, with an address listed underneath.

    “All sorts? You mean there are others like me who have experienced this?” I lean forward, a tick too far and the thing on my spine flutters slightly in agitation. I wince and lean back again. “Or something similar?”

    Jasmine nods her silver head. “Yes, of course, child. You’re not the only one who’s had something strange awaken inside of you. It is a danger that many face, and like you, it is one that they try to face alone.” She adds another lump of the strange, golden wax to the burner, and more smoke begins to fill the room, making it hard to see her. “Don’t make the mistake of letting it control you forever. One day, it’s going to get too big to carry around on your back.”

    The smoke burns my eyes now, and the painted fan in Jasmine’s hand flicks open again like the wings of a paper butterfly, curling the smoke with the gentlest movements of her wrist. In another moment, she’s disappeared entirely deeper into the tent, and I’m left with nothing but a business card and a face full of smoke.

    Sage advice from a circus act comes with its nuances, of course.

[remember-the-fanfics]

Pink Diamond x reader? Maybe Pink is a vampire or something? I think it'd be cute

Complicated (Vampire!Pink x Reader)

This is like a story with bullet points. I'm bored with no internet

I also got bored and added like a soul mate thing in the middle.

Like when you touch someone for the first time, you would know who they are and that they are your soulmate.

-

• You had meet her during one of her trips away from the others with Pearl.

• She had never seen a freed human before and Pearl was quick to try and attack you, you dodged and hit the ground

• "Pearl!" She said, getting Pearl to look at her and stopping the attack to you. "They clearly mean no harm, They are just a human."

• You took offense to her words

• "What do you mean just a human?" You asked, getting a surprise look from the two.

• "You can... speak?" Asked Pink.

• "Of course, all humans can."

• Her family had lied to her about your kind, saying that you couldn't do anything to your own accord.

• "I am sorry, human." Said Pink, as you got up and dusted imaginary dust off your shoulder.

• "That's fine, I'm sorry I gotten in the way of your walk, ma'am."

• Pearl was going to tell you of Pink's actual title but a pleading look from Pink had stopped her.

• You had struck a conversation with the two, even though it was mostly just Pink.

• "You should get going, you probably need to sleep." Said Pink before you realized it was almost 3 am.

• "Oh shot. Bye Pink! Bye Pearl!" You said before running off towards you house.

• "Wait! I didn't get your name!" Yelled Pink just as you disappeared out of sight. "I didn't know humans

• You told your family about the peculiar lady you had meet in the woods at night.

• They knew who she was but not thinking that you would ever see her again, your parents just forbid you to out at night.

• The two of you had lived or move on with life, never just forgetting the event.

• Pink had brought up that she had ran into a human that could speak and think on it's own.

• "And you didn't kill it?" Questioned Yellow. "It has a pointless existence Pink, you would have better it's life."

• "But they were very respectful even if they didn't know who I was."

• "How could they not know who you are? That's just more disrespectful, Pink." Told Blue.

• Pink sighed and stopped talking about you to them. Wondering if anymore humans could be just like you.

• You had started her wonder of humans.

• As the years go by you become a full adult and leave your families house.

• Pink had been given a territory to rule over by the others, telling her, she had to get rid of most humans and turn the rest into supernatural creatures.

• She had been make humans just leave her land by fear or warning, if they didn't, she other to deal with them by killing or turning. She had came to your house to do the same.

• You had been cooking when you heard a knock on the door and you went to open it to see her, the lady from the woods.

• "You!" You both said.

• "Why are you here human? I didn't think you lived on this land." She said before glancing around. "Let me enter please. I can not be seen in the open for much longer, my human."

• "Of course, you can enter." You said stepping to the side and she entered. "Oh, wait. My soup!" You yelled running towards you kitchen and Pink laughed at you actions.

• "Oh no, I eat other things than that." Said Pink when you said she could have some. "You need to leave you land, human." Said Pink, earning you choke on your food.

• "W-what? Why?" You asked, sitting your food down.

• "You are in grave danger if you stay, the humans are being changed or killed in these parts."

• "Change? You mean turn into one of supernatural creatures?" Tou asked and Pink shook her head yes.

• "I do not wish any of those on you." Said Pink, taking you hand before there was a flash of light as you both felt it.

• "This makes everything alot more complicated for you." Said Pink, remembering what the other told her what would happen if she ever meet her soulmate. "But atleast now I know your name, (Y/n)."

• "So you are a vampire, no wonder you asked me if you could enter." You said. "And you're name Pink, like the color."

• "Oh no. I was just being polite-. Hey!" Said Pink laughing before getting serious again. "My family, in terms, can now tell that I have a soulmate and can figure out if it's you."

• "Oof. That does make everything alot more difficult. They clearly aren't the nicest from what I know." You said.

• "You can come with me (Y/n)." Said Pink, giving you the easiest yet complicated way.

• "Yeah but I would have to be not human, Pink." You said before seeing the sad look in Pink. "Not that I wouldn't mind being with you forever Pink but I don't want to do that because of others."

• "O-Of course." Said Pink.

• "You've ever thought of running off?"

• "All the time." Pink said instantly. "They aren't the gentlest people (Y/n)."

• "Well, I heard from a old family friend, there's land where they don't control. We could go there. They wouldn't be able to find us."

• "They'll still know I'm alive and I'm not leaving my friends here with them." Said Pink before think. "What if we faked our deaths?"

• "We?"

• "Yes! They could smell it in your blood who you were suppose to be to me. It would be a romantic tragedy."

• "You need not to read anymore of those books but isn't faking our deaths to far?" You asked and Pink stood up and got closer, took you hand once more and look at you in the eyes.

• "It's the only way (Y/n). Trust me please." Said Pink, knowing what she was doing but it is your idea to start with.

• "Of course." You said, feeling weird. "I trust you, it's the only way."

• Pink said thanks and she had to leave to once more. She had promise she would be back soon with her friends and a plan.

• After a few days of waiting, she arrived with Pearl. She said she couldn't get the other one but she didn't regret it.

• "So you're going to blame a person that you've made up for our deaths? And how will they know that you died?" You questioned and Pearl pulled out a bag of ashes and a stake.

• "We will also require some of your blood. We want them to think someone took your body." Said Pearl, nervous about this as much as you.

• "I can help with this (Y/n)." Said Pink, showing her fangs. "It's mostly painless and I have a glass to put your blood in."

• "Of course." You said sighing, you had a feeling this was going to happen.

• Pink had quickly bite your wrist and caught the blood in the glass. She had held it close to her face before licking the rest off.

• "You actually taste better than I thought you would." Said Pink after she kissed your wound and wrapped it up.

• "That's extremely weird complement." Said Pearl, stating the obvious.

• "Oh! Sorry." Said Pink.

• And then you had to set a scene with others watch the event to give eye witnesses.

• That their beloved Pink and her new found soulmate suffered the same fate after meeting each other.

• The starts your escape to the land, you've actually seen. You had went to your family for the map and said goodbye to them.

• As you adventure went, Pink switched her name to Rose as the fake person who killed her. You kept yours as no one truly knew you. Pearl had stayed by both your sides as you meet and gain new friends, Amethyst and Garnet.

• Garnet was a vampire-witch and Amethyst is a werewolf, both running away from Pink's family for differentiating from the normal.

• After a few years after you all made a life and house together, Pink had turned you and it took you forever to actually want to try blood.

• Even if your new body was fading. Pink had to get some blood of a willing human and made you drink.

• "See it wasn't so bad?" Said Pink earning a glare. "Don't give me that look. You were going to kill yourself."

• "Fine, it wasn't that bad." You mumbled, blood didn't taste like copper anymore. Better than expected but you couldn't put a finger on what it actually tasted like.

-

10/31/19

Ahaha, this would be posted on Halloween if the internet worked but I hoped you enjoyed.

[klarosims]

Golden Guardian of the Highlands

KCAUWeek2019 for @klaroline-events

Day One: Mythological Creatures

Summary: With his plans to break the hybrid curse ruined because of Katerina, Klaus Mikaelson had to find a new source of power to defeat his father and protect his family. So when rumors of a powerful creature soaring through the Scottish Highlands had reached his ears, it took no longer than half a day's travel for him to reach Inverness.

His appearance in the garden city wasn't greeted with the least bit of enthusiasm from the locals. From the way they avoided his gaze and placed at least two feet of distance between them and the hybrid, let Klaus know his reputation has reached even such a city.

With his patience growing thin from the lack of reception, he strolls into a quaint pub near the outskirts of the city where no rumors of the dragon dare spread, suspicious to say the least. He hears their hearts skip a beat but none had turned their heads or moved a muscle, immediately prompting Klaus to stand in front of a small waitress. In one swift movement, he turns her around and cranes her neck for everyone in the pub to see the horror-stricken girl, suddenly pleading for her life.

"You have to forgive me," his voice booms in the small space, capturing everyone's attention, "for my patience have grown thin since no one has been able to direct me to what I seek yet I know someone here knows precisely how to assist me." He waits as their hearts still for just a second before he lets out the veins underneath his eyes and for his eyes to glow a murderous red.

"You cannot lose such a thing you do not have," a soft melodic voice answers him. He turns his attention to the bar to find a young woman carrying a crate of beers from the storage room.

Her hair was the lightest blonde he has ever seen in all his travels, complemented by warm blue eyes that held a glint of light on its own. Her dainty fingers let go of the heavy crate on the bar and he wonders how a porcelain thing could hold its own without breaking at the slightest exertion of force and movement.

But it was her voice that truly captured him like a siren luring a sailor to his sweet sweet surrender. "Klaus Mikaelson," she says as if tasting the very sound of his name on her lips.

Without effort, Klaus has let go of the waitress and strides confidently toward the bar, "My reputation continues to precede me," he tells her, to which she crosses her arms but narrows her eyes in boredom. "But it has been an eternal shame that I do not know who you are," he reaches out for one of her hands and finds it intriguing that she doesn't flinch even at his cold touch. He kisses her warm knuckles and finds himself lingering as if wanting another taste.

"It is not my name you are after, Klaus," she says his name with spite and withdraws her hand, bringing it back to her chest. "But the guardian of the sky."

"So it is true then," he smirks, "there is a dragon that roams these highlands."

Her lips purse and her eyes narrow.

"Tell me, love," he shuffles his feet and cranes his neck, trying to feign a man asking for a favor but only successfully presents himself as a mischievous man with malicious intentions. "Where might I find this so-called guardian so that I may be on my way and out of this beautiful city before bodies start piling up."

Her eyes become stormy and Klaus finds himself mesmerized by her quiet contained rage, itching to help her release it and see what beautiful chaos she may inflict upon the world.

"I might as well direct you just to end your life and spare the innocent lives here."

A man sitting by the bar slams his glass and glares at the two of them, "Caroline, are you insane? You can't show this stranger--"

"Rob, it's okay," she interrupts him with the gentlest voice and the smallest smile. Klaus stares at her pink lips and continues to wonder in awe at this human, Caroline. "I can handle this." She turns to Klaus without waiting for Rob's response. She walks pass Klaus and hangs her apron by the door before walking into the cool night air of Inverness.

Caroline feels Klaus gently place his heavy coat around her shoulders. She also feels the lingering touch of his fingers on her skin. "Might catch a cold, love."

She holds the coat close to herself, indulging in his scent, before she starts walking towards the nearest gate of the city. "No need to play nice, Klaus Mikaelson. You'll find that what you wish for is not exactly what you seek."

Klaus matches her stride with ease and keeps his hands behind him. He smirks at her, "Yes, centuries on this Earth and I've found that my expectations either leave me disappointed or in awe."

She steals a glance at the way his eyes roam her face and body and clutches the coat tighter. "Which is it usually?" she asks quietly as they pass the guards.

Klaus waits until they're out in the wilderness to answer her, "I'm sad to say I have been more disappointed than anything else."

Something subtle tugs at her heartstrings and she finds herself slowing down to turn to him. For a split second, she finds hooded sadness in his eyes before they were gone and quickly replaced by mirth as he stares back at her.

She turns away after a while. "What exactly do you expect to find here, Klaus Mikaelson?"

"Call me Klaus, Caroline. There is no need for such formalities." Caroline only hums in response, waiting for him to answer but after their descent of a small hill and he still doesn't answer, she speaks of something she told herself she shouldn't thousand times over.

"I know the curse of the sun and moon is not for those vampires and wolves." Her voice sounds guarded and the subject makes Klaus stiffen. Caroline stops walking, "I know it is a curse only you bear."

In one swift movement, Caroline is lifted off the ground by her neck. She grabs Klaus's hand to help lift herself but she doesn't struggle free from his hold. His eyes are so close, murderous red and surrounded by veins. She can't help stare at his sharps fangs and itches to touch them.

"Who are you?" he growls.

Caroline struggles but she speaks her mind, "I am like you. I wish to break a curse forced upon me for centuries."

Klaus's eyes widen. His hold loosens but only enough for Caroline to take a deep breath.

"If you can--" she releases one harsh cough, "break your curse, I would ask you to help break mine." She stares at him now, holding down another cough, "in return for seeing the guardian."

Klaus narrows his eyes at the girl and lets her go, letting her fall on her hands and knees on the dewy grass of the fast-coming morning. "What makes you think I will return to honor such an outrageous favor?"

As the sun rises above the land behind Klaus, Caroline slowly lifts herself, her hair stealing every ray and heat of the sun, taking it as it owns as each strand glows as an individual string of gold.

Klaus once again finds himself enraptured by her beauty and stares as Caroline straightens herself. The harsh wind plays with hair, pulling it back until it braids loosely at the back. Her porcelain skin sparkles in gold, slowly forming intricate scales wrapping themselves around her elongating body.

Klaus can hear the bones of her back crack and even as her legs give way as they transform into hinds, he is at awe at her quiet rage and pain. He basks in her strength and at the same time wishes to take away her suffering forever.

Caroline, the guardian of the Highland skies, towers over Klaus and roars loudly at his form. He could hear all of her pent up anger, pain, frustration, and exhaustion. He couldn't help himself. He walks forward and caresses her rough cheek.

"Love," he whispers and she snorts in response, "I am officially at awe and you," he takes her with both hands, "are majestic!" He is grinning at her now and her bowed head only convinces him that he can win her over. "Join me and if you so wish it, Caroline, I will do everything in my power to free you from this curse."

[thelimeonade]

30 Day OTP Writing Challenge. Day 2: Pontifex.

I MEAN FUCKING FINALLY STARTED THIS SHIT!!!

2: Reunion hug..

Martha went on with her usual day... as boring as it was.

It was another gloomy day in Florence, the air thick with clouds that obscured the much needed sunlight. For when the sunlight didn’t shine, her thoughts were her greatest enemies.

But there was no sun now, only the stars and the moon that were also hidden.

She no longer loved the nights as before. Nobody bothered to keep her company in those times, not even on dates. Even her fiance preferred meeting her in broad daylight in the streets or at the piazza rather than spend the night with her doing absolutely nothing but talk. Her fiance had left her nights untouched, undefiled... and she hated it.

The memories of him still lived through the night – the night he so loved but he had loved her more, he claimed. LIES. LIES. LIES. She took a sharp turn left after the Cathedral of Santa Maria, down Via dei Calzaiouli.

It was way past 10 at night and all the streets were silent if it weren’t for the squeaks of racing rats and mice, fighting over bits of food left behind by disrespectful tourists.

Martha wrapped her coat around her tighter as she listened to the clicking echo of her shoes against the old, worn out bricks of the streets. She hated walking home in such hours but today she had worked herself to the bone, had taken up the after-hours cleaning shift at the museum, anything to keep her mind off what today was.

Today...

July 15th...

The day he had left eight years ago to fulfill some foolish fantasy, complete some stupid quest he had bestowed upon himself! The day after a night of love-making that she didn’t realize was a final goodbye and the next morning there was only a note...

A note...

He didn’t say it to her face, he only left a note.

A rat scurried in-front of her shoes, earning a yelp from her. “Stronzo!” She hissed quietly. She didn’t know whether the insult was aimed at the creature that had spread the black plague before, or at her past lover.

Gathering herself together, tightening her grip on the lapels of her coat, she kept moving forward.

Lover?

Is this really what he was? Or had he played her just like he had turned the world into his own personal monopoly but instead of collecting properties, he collected kills...

Kills.

A shudder swept through her flesh as she recalled the day she found out who he was–What he was!

The Phoenix. A serial killer.

“ Figlio di puttana!” She cursed underneath her breath as she walked faster. But she hadn’t stopped loving him for the corpses he had left behind in a trail, or the blood stains she began to notice more in his clothes. She had stayed and loved him more... And he had left! Left her with nothing but a note like she was a one-night-stand! Not his lover of five years!Not the woman he had proposed to! Not the woman who had let her Catholic family disown her for wanting to marry an atheist!

Martha noticed that her hand had risen up to the chain around her neck, her fingers looping around the ring he had given her, tracing the words engraved on it. Mia stella. Mia amore. These were also lies!

Why did she think he wouldn’t lie to her? When he lied to the world? A serial killer!

A serial killer who was the gentlest man in the world when it came to her... who would have bought her all of Italy if she had just asked... who made her so happy... then so sad.

Her feet halted as she tipped her head back, taking deep breaths, holding back tears that threatened to spill.

She looked down at the ring on her finger with the enormous, dazzling diamonds. It was so beautiful... but so cold... lacking any bit of love.

She had waited every year on this day for her love to comeback, her Xavier, but he never did. The news never reported the authorities ever catching The Phoenix and his target, Axel, was still alive...

When her life had started falling apart, she had returned to her family, begging for forgiveness and they had took her in, engaged her to a family friend. All her female colleagues at work had gushed over the luxurious ring, but her heart yearned to wear the bland one around her neck, its white gold had turned dull with age but she loved it.

She loved him. So much. And she had waited every day – on July 15th more than others – for his return, for whole eight years.

He never did.

The shadows rippled slightly from one of the dark alleys and her hand flew to the pocket of her coat where she had kept her switch blade. It wasn’t exactly hers, she thought as her fingers brushed against the engraved ‘X’.

Muggers, thieves and whatnot were common in Italy and if they were trying to get her, then she would die fighting. She went through every movement Xavier had taught her as she snapped the blade out, gripping it firmly in her fist.

Eye. Temple. Heart. Neck. Eye. Temple. Heart. Neck.

Neck is always your last option. Unless you want a fountain of blood all over you.

Her serial killer lover had taught her how to kill a man... how romantic.

She sensed the proximity of the predator approaching behind her and whirled around, aiming for the attacker’s eye. But the knife didn’t find home as her wrist was gripped by a firm, calloused, strong hand. The tip a hairbreadth away from the neck she had nuzzled for nights after nights.

“Are you going to kill me, mia stella?” Cobalt blue eyes bore into hers as infinite as ever.

He looked different... the scar that had marred his face, running down from his right eyebrow, down his eyelid to his cheekbone was new... but it was still him... her Xavier... after eight whole years.

The knife slipped from her grip, landing against the ground with a clank as she took him in.

Her Xavier.

Xavier freed her wrist from his grip, giving her a small smile but she had immediately smacked it off his face, the sound of the slap reverberating along the silent street.

This was madness. His eyes widened as he took her in, flustered with her chest rising up and down in ragged breath. But it wasn’t anger encased in that cobalt blue, but sorrow and understanding.

When he had turned to leave, she had swallowed her pride and threw herself on him, flinging her arms around his broad shoulders, her fingers digging into the cold leather of his jacket. He still smelled of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. The black ink of his tattoos were not tapered with or had been added to as far as she could tell from the swirls that snaked around his collarbone that she had buried her face in and sobbed.

Eight long years... she had forgotten how it felt like to be genuinely held, she had forgotten his warmth, his touch, his scent, everything about him.

She had died a million times waiting for him... she had died more when he wrapped his strong arms around her small body, caging her to him.

How she hated him for this... how she loved him so much... so fucking much!

Kay so that’s my very first Pontifex draft... I am also thinking of doing ‘Reunion Hug’ from Extinct Galactic too.... am I extra? Yes I am :)

TAGLINE: @farrradays @mediocre-prose